


Flowers In Your Lungs

by lesbianoodle



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Past Child Abuse, Phase Zero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianoodle/pseuds/lesbianoodle
Summary: Stuart Niccals and Murdoc Pot are completely different- and entirely alike. (playlist).





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Twenty four chapters is a rough estimate for now. 
> 
> Let's see how long I can keep this up for. 
> 
> 2doc is canonically abusive. I do not condone their relationship. 
> 
> And, hey, thanks.

Running away was harder than most people thought it would be. It wasn't as simple as packing up your things and leaving the house, never coming back. You have to have a plan, one to make sure that your father doesn't catch you or realise you're leaving until you're gone. You have to know where you're going to go, who you can trust to help you, and how to cover your tracks so he doesn't find you again. Running away is very tricky to pull off. 

You, Stuart Niccals, know this better than anybody. 

You've been trying to run away since you were about eight or nine, you reckon. That's the earliest that you can remember waiting out on the pavement for the bus to come with only a backpack of belongings and a battered keyboard for company. You remember your dad grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you inside while you didn't say a word of protest, too scared. You remember that he smashed up your keyboard. It was really battered then.

You glanced in the backseat and saw the very same keyboard there, mostly held together by blue, sellotape, and your pure determination not to lose the only thing you loved. You're still not sure where the damn thing came from- maybe one of the various mums you'd had before you were old enough to stop calling them that anymore. The women your father seduced. Your grip tightened on the wheel just at the thought of him and you tried to push it away. You try to focus on the road instead and the sound coming from the radio. 

With a sigh, you turned the crackling noise up. The Killers. Brilliant. 

Anyway, like you were saying, you've tried to run away from your father for as long as you can possibly remember. But it's only now that you, (at thirty years old), have actually managed to do it. This is the furthest you've ever gotten and there's no sign of your father in the rearview mirror. You've already been to the police and made the officer who works the desk to promise not to believe your dad when he shows up and asks them to put up missing posters. You are leaving town because you want to. Don't let him grab you by the wrist and pull you back. 

Your dad won't notice until he wakes up later anyway, since it's early morning now and he doesn't wake up until about midday. The only person that might notice is your brother, Hannibal, who's always been an asshole to you. He won't go running to your dad. Because even if he hates you and used to make you eat worms and rub your face in dog shit, he doesn't care enough about you to give a fuck that you've gone. It just means that he'll have more room in that godforsaken house and he'll be glad of that. He won't miss you at all. Nobody will. 

As you drive further and further, you feel more and more free. 

When you escape the town at last, flipping off the welcome sign out of the window as you pass, you can't help but feel a kind of elation. Heartbeat pounding in your chest and your ears as you drive, you have to force yourself to breathe. It's so weird to think that you never have to deal with your dad ever again. You feel like he's about to grab you, even as you're driving, and no matter how many times you check the backseat, you can't quite feel sure he's not there. Shaky, you drive a while longer before you pull over on the side of the road. 

You need to calm your nerves somehow and you light a cigarette with wobbling hands, taking a long drag from it to settle yourself. You supposed you should say a few more things about yourself while you've got time. Your name is Stuart Niccals, like you already said, and you're thirty, like you already said. You play the keyboard and have done ever since you were a little kid. Up until a few hours ago, you lived with your dad and brother, who treated you like absolute shit. You love lots of music but mostly older stuff because that was all you could ever find lying around your house growing up. You have blue hair and brown eyes and burns on your skin. 

You finish up your cigarette and get back into the car. 

Driving is a little bit easier now, though you realise quickly that you have no idea where you're going. Sure, you picked out a town ahead of time and already rented yourself a flat to live in. You mean, you have literally lost your way because you don't have a map. You decide to just keep following the road in hopes of finding a sign that will tell you where to go. Eventually, you manage to get onto the motorway and that gives you a lot more hope of finding the place. You remember checking a map to get there on the internet last night and seeing that you had to use the motorway to get there. God, you wish you'd driven more. 

You'd learnt to drive when you were eighteen like everybody else and you did have a license but you'd never had anywhere to drive to. Having friends would have been too difficult so you didn't have any- you locked yourself inside your bedroom a lot and tried to think about a better life you could one day leave. Maybe you could have driven if you went to uni but you weren't smart enough to get in there and your dad wouldn't pay for you anyway. Working your little part-time job for a while just resulted in your dad yelling at you, so you gave up on uni. 

But you know that things will be different now that you're living alone. 

After going to the bank, you found out that you did at least have a savings account even if there wasn't much in it. Maybe your dad set it up before deciding he hated you or maybe one of his old wives had done it or something. The money was actually for you and Hannibal to share and for a moment, you considered leaving some for him even it if made things difficult for you- but then you remembered how he set fire to your childhood bear and you took all the money out. 

And then you packed up the few things you had that actually belonged to you- clothes that you'd managed to get cheap, your keyboard, a few CDs, a game boy and some other bits and pieces. You'd always clung to whatever you could get that was just yours, no matter how small the thing was. You had endless bottle caps and rocks and books with broken spines and torn pages and crayons that had been melted. One small cross hanging on a chain that a church had given to you out of pity. You didn't tell them you were Buddhist. You just said thanks. 

Huh. This seems like the town you were looking for. 

You turn off the motorway and begin to drive around a bit, looking for the shit old flat that you were renting until you could get somewhere better. All the flats looked the same- which was good because it would make it harder for dad to find you- and you realised this was more of a city than the small town you were used to. Eventually, you have to stop the car and ask somebody where you're meant to be going. Several people tell you to piss off but a nice lady outside the hospital points you in the right direction and explains where to go. 

On the way there, you spot a emporium selling musical instruments, which is pretty exciting. You've never actually seen a music store before. Your old town didn't have one, sadly. Maybe you could come back here later and take a better look at it, depending on how late it stays open and how long it takes for you to unpack your things. As you drive past, you spot a man outside having a fag and flicking the ash onto the ground with his middle finger. He seems to catch you staring because he makes a rude gesture and yells "wanker!" at you. Well, then. 

Welcome to your new life, you guess.


	2. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, some notes then. 
> 
> First of all, trigger warning for some mild racism and queer slurs from some assholes in this chapter. Also, some violence. Like "people getting the crap beaten out of them" violence. Please scroll past it if it makes you uncomfortable. Tread carefully, my friends. 
> 
> Secondly, Noodle and Russel aren't exactly "role-reversed" completely but they are in some aspects- Noodle is possessed by a certain spirit and Russel experiences some mild memory loss. 
> 
> Noodle is also a bit older than she would be canonically (she's thirteen) in this story and Russel is maybe late twenties? Hm. 
> 
> Anyway, if you have any queries, questions, opinions, or ideas: please leave them in the comments. Or you can send me hate mail on my tumblr (h3y-d4v3-1s-th1s-you). I love, love, love to talk to people about my fics!!
> 
> ALSO POV CHANGE :D

A crumpled beer can bounced off your back and you heard a group of kids jeering at you from nearby, the same kids you saw hanging around there every single day. You didn't know why they liked to hang around outside the chippy and sneer at you everyday on your way to work but you guessed they just had nothing better to do. Automatically, your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides and you bared your teeth. But you didn't turn to them, knowing that getting into any more trouble might end your job at the emporium or something. 

You, Murdoc Pot, always get into trouble wherever you go. 

Honestly, you're not sure why you've always been drawn to trouble like a magnet but it just seems to be one of those things. It seemed to be one of the rules of the universe: the universe gave you shit and the only way you could deal with it is by knocking it away from you. Punching it in the face. Of course, your mum didn't see it like that but she loved you anyway. Satan only knew why. You were a right piece of work. But you felt like you owed to her to let these assholes go free today and just continued on your way. You walked. 

That was before they start yelling at you. "Oi, mate! Are you bent? Are you bent?" 

Your fists were clenched so tightly that your nails were digging into the palms of your hands, nearly hard enough to draw blood. But you kept walking, keeping your eyes fixed on the ground and tried to take deep breaths. After years of dealing with crap like this in school, you'd think that you'd get used to it. Jesus. You kissed one guy for a laugh back in Year Nine when you were drunk and nobody had ever let it go. You used to get kicked in the stomach outside of the school gates for months after that particular incident. Gotta love secondary school. 

"Mate!" One of them approached you, "Can't you hear me, you stupid paki?" 

Instead of snapping, you just turned to him and looked him in the eyes. He looked like a right prick, the kind of stupid idiot you'd expect to make comments like that. He was about twice your size but that didn't stop you from flipping him the bird and growling for him to get lost. It made him laugh loudly and mockingly and his mates sneered with him. The longer you looked at them, the uglier and stupider they seemed to become. Typical kids on a Friday morning. 

"So you can hear me. Are you going to answer my question then?" The lad following you sniggered, "Mate, are you a gaylord or something?" 

You rolled your eyes and muttered something under your breath about his mother that you immediately regretted. Because if the kid had been having a laugh to begin with, it was definitely becoming more serious now. He was obviously drunk, at least a little, because even his friends seemed surprised when he snagged you by the back of your shirt. He pulled you back and held you there, even as you struggled, to look you in the eyes. For somebody that doesn't seem to like gays, he sure seemed to looking deep into your eyes. 

You realised that it's probably because your eyes are a really odd colour. They were a shade of brown so close to red that in the right light, you looked even more like the spawn of the devil than usual. Nobody would ever believe that they aren't contacts, even though they aren't. Even your mum didn't seem to be able to pretend that she liked your eyes, no matter how hard she tried. There was just nothing sweet to say about them. At least your dad thought they were wicked; and so did some mates you'd used to have back in primary school before people started saying you were gay and they became your enemies. 

"The fuck did you say to me?" Now, the lad has got you by the front of your shirt instead and he was yanking you upwards so hard that you could barely keep your balance; his teeth were the ones bared now and he glared at you, "What did you say, you paki?" 

You scowled back at him and repeated in the loud tone most people will only reserve for incredibly stupid people. "I said, if I was gay, your mum didn't seem to mind it too much last night when I was-" 

His fist made contact with your lower jaw before you could even see it coming and his other hand released you, sending you stumbling backwards. It bloody hurt too, a right good hit that sent your head spinning. You stumbled backwards a few feet, clutching at your face, and thank Satan that at least he didn't go for the nose. You weren't sure how many breaks it could take. 

"Bloody hell." One of the guy's mates sounded impressed, "Nice hit." 

Another one sounded a bit more concerned. "If he passes out, I'm getting out of here." 

The lad was coming towards you again, daring you to so much as lay a finger on him. You think hard about your mum and what she would tell you to do if she was here- she'd tell you that the nicer thing to do would walk away and just ignore them. These idiots were just a waste of your time. They didn't even deserve you speaking to them. You remember your first fight in primary school, back in Year Four, when a kid dared to ask you if you were adopted. He said it in a really nasty way too like it was something to be ashamed of. Maybe beating the crap out of him wasn't the nicer thing to do but he'd never messed with you again. 

This guy had already got the first hit in and he'd managed to slag you off two different ways already. You figured teaching him a lesson wouldn't do any harm, especially since you were in one of the quieter parts of the town, and nobody would be around to see them. Grunting, you lift your head up and set your teeth. And you stalk towards him, growling. 

"Ain't that Murdoc Pot?" One of the kid's mates said, as he finally gets a good look at your face; he added in a quieter tone, "Maybe we should just get out of here."

You'd been in a few fights in your life and knocking this kid who was twice your size down wasn't as hard as it would have been for a first-timer. You kicked him hard in the crotch, making him double over, before grabbing him by the shoulders and using your head for one of the few things it's good for. You smacked your head into his and from his groan, it hurt him more than it hurt you. You pushed him down onto the ground and before he could scramble back to his feet, started kicking him like the kids used to do to you back in school. 

The lad wasn't looking so tough now that he was on the ground and yelping in pain each time your foot made contact with his stomach. Just for good luck, you aimed one particularly good kick to his face and you definitely shattered something there because blood began to pour heavily from his nose. He tried to stem the flow of blood with his hands but his attempts proved to be fruitless as the blood drip-drip-dripped faster through his hands and onto his shirt. 

"You piece of shit!" He yelled at you, pushing himself back up onto his feet and swaying as he did so, "I'll fucking kill you. I'll kill you!"

"He's not worth it." One of his mates called, "C'mon, let's just go." 

The guy stumbled towards you but you ducked out of the way of his hits, avoiding his pathetic swings easily. Your fist sends him backwards again but he doesn't land on his arse this time, still on his feet. Then, he decides enough is enough and charges into you. The pure force of somebody his size smacking into you took you by surprise and both of you tumble to the ground. You land on your back and your shirt rides up, so you get a nasty graze on your lower back. Your hands were scraped and bleeding and the guy was on top of you. 

He was beating you in the chest relentlessly, hitting you again and again with his fists, until you felt like you couldn't breathe. When you try to kick him off, he just grabbed you by the shirt and told you to fucking stop. The lad was clearly drunker than you originally thought he was (props to him for being wasted this early in the morning) and no longer fucking around. His mates looked just about ready to scarper from the scene. And just when things couldn't get worse, the door to the chip shop opened and a girl came running out. 

"Stop this instant!" She yelled, confidently for somebody as small as she was; she spoke in accented English, "I will make you wish you never born if you don't! Stop it, I said!" 

You finally manage to kick the guy off and stand up. The girl standing outside the chippy looked at you like she was daring you to so much as raise your fist. 

You almost laugh at how ridiculous this is. "Alright. I'm going, yeah?"

"You leave." She pointed fiercely at you, "Or I call police. Go, go!"

Needless to say, the lad and his mates got lost quickly. Though, the kid does flip you the finger as he walks away and you get the impression that you should try not to run into him again any time soon. You offered a small smile to the tiny Asian girl that saved your arse and wonder what she was doing inside the chippy at this hour anyway. 

She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, around the age that she should be able to scrape a half-time job but only if she knew the owner. Her dark hair was tucked underneath what looked like an American football player's helmet and she was dressed fairly simply, though her jacket seemed much too loose for her to be wearing- it was practically falling off her. Her eyes... God, once you looked at them, you couldn't look away. They were like bright, glowing orbs in her head. That wasn't an exaggeration; her eyes literally look like glowing white lights. No pupils. 

"Thanks, love." You said, finally. 

In return, she smiled widely and told you to get lost, not unkindly. Then, she disappeared inside the chip shop again and vanished behind the counter. You weren't sure how you'd never seen her before; you'd walked this way for years. Maybe you'd never spotted her because she had always been too small to see over the counter. 

Chuckling at that, you rubbed at your jaw again and continued on your way. You were going to be late to work and all because of some assholes- not that you would tell your boss that, of course. You would tell him you slept in or something like that. Missed the beginning of your shift. Maybe you'd even stay a little later than usual to make up for it. 

The music emporium was one of the only things you liked about this place. As soon as the door swung shut behind you, the familiar smell of new instruments and polish met your nose. You pinned your name badge to your shirt and offered your apologies to the guy who worked the really early shift, who purposely bumps shoulders with you as he leaves. You took your seat behind the till and checked to see if there was any loose change in there that you could nick. After all, you could always use a little more cash in your pocket. 

"You're late, Murdoc." Your boss stuck his head around the office door just to shake his head at you, "You're lucky that I keep you on. Most people wouldn't."

You withdrew your hand from the till with a couple of notes tucked inside your first and cleared your throat, pretending that you hadn't been doing anything. You could smell marijuana coming from his office. Your boss wasn't much better than you were, habit wise. 

Reluctantly, you realised he wanted an answer. "Yeah, I suppose it's nice of you." 

"Just don't be late again." Then, the office door closed and you were free to do whatever you wanted. Honestly, you didn't think your boss would care if you set the place on fire as long as you'd put it out by the time he left his office at night. You rested your feet on the table, leaning back in your chair, and pulled a pack of 666 cigarettes from your pocket. Favourite brand. 

You bite down on the cigarette, balancing it in your mouth, lighting it. A pack of fags was your go-to relief after a fight and had been for as long as you'd been smoking- since you were about thirteen. You'd started doing it because you thought it looked cool but you'd been hooked from day one, smoking your way through a pack or two every week. You inhale and exhale, closing your eyes and enjoying the bitter taste in your mouth. You lived for your time spent here. 

Nobody came in most of the morning so you mucked around like you usually did, pretending to be testing the bass guitars as an excuse to play your beautiful El Diablo. It had been the guitar of your dreams ever since you saw it in the window but you couldn't afford it without remortgaging your house. You had got the job here because the owner caught you red-handed playing it one afternoon when you see just pretending to browse. 

You were working until you could afford to pay for it, since your grubby hands had touched it and ruined it. It sucked that you'd be working here for the next ten years (you'd worked it out) but at least the guitar would be yours at the end. It had a not-for-sale sign by it. 

As you played, you got lost in the music. Music had always been a place of solitude for you, a place that you didn't have to think about anything. It's a free space. You plucked the strings of the bass, humming to yourself, and get so lost that a sudden noise makes you jump. 

The door swung open and a man entered. "Yo, you guys open?"

You pretended that he didn't make nearly jump out of your own skin and strum easily, glancing at him for only a second. You thought you'd seen him before somewhere but you couldn't even imagine where- unless he was the kind of person that spent a lot of time in clubs or records shops. You squinted at him. He was big and dark skinned and had a shaved head. You returned to playing your bass, turning your back to him in hopes he'll just leave. When he just stood in the doorway, waiting for you to speak, you groan and lie to his face. 

"Nah, fat arse." You shrugged, "Lunch break." 

"It's ten in the morning." The man raised an eyebrow, "I just came to collect something." 

"Ugh, alright." You put El Diablo back in it's sacred space carefully, treating it like you would treat a newborn child if you didn't absolutely hate children. Then, you made your way back over to the till and checked the post-it-note of people picking things up. There was only one name on there. "Are you Russel Hobbs?" 

"Sure am. I called last night if the note I left on the refrigerator for myself is to be believed." The man had a thick Brooklyn accent in his words but he spoke clearly, neatly, "Am I right in assuming you've got some new drumsticks for me?"

You fish them out from under the table. "Break your last pair, did you?" 

"Don't remember." Russel admitted, "I think I must have blacked out last night or something 'cos I can't remember a thing that happened." 

You hand the drumsticks to him. "Does that sort of thing happen to you a lot?" 

"More than you'd think." Russel said, dropping some pound notes onto the table with obviously no clue how to spend them; he must have moved here incredibly recently if he hasn't picked up the metric system yet, "Thanks, man." 

You choose not to tell him he's overpaid and pocket the extra cash. 

He leaves the shop and you returned to lazing around until your shift ends- only a few people come around in that time and most of them only to browse, boring fucks. You enjoyed your job a lot more when there weren't other people drifting in and out with no clue of what they're doing. Anyway, you yelled to your boss to tell him that you're off and he didn't say anything in response so you just left. You don't even bother to sweep the burnt out cigarettes off the table into the bin; let the lazy oaf do something useful for once in his own emporium. It was cold outside and you wished you'd thought to bring a coat as you stepped outside. 

The walk home wasn't as boring because you remembered your handy old Walkman (that was once your dad's) and hook the headphones around your ears. The tape wedged in there permanently is a mix of mostly death metal but some rock too and some alternative. You turned the volume up so loudly you nearly smashed your own ear drums to death, which is the proper way to listen to music in your opinion. It's turned up so loud that you nearly don't notice the yelling. When you do, you turned your head and see them. 

"Shit." You muttered to yourself. 

It was the lad from earlier today with a broken nose and a black eye and a bitter look on his face. His pals were still with him and they seemed less frightened of you now because all of them were charging towards you at top speed like a pack of wolves. Even you weren't stupid enough to try and take on that many guys at once- your feet started pounding against the pavement automatically and one of them yelled, realising that the race was on. You weren't fast but you were determined to lose them, ducking down an alleyway to take a shortcut. 

You ran across the road, middle finger up to the driver that swears at you, and jumped over the fence on the other side. Now, you were scrambling through people's gardens and over their fences. Glancing back, you saw that you'd lost some of them but the main guy was still in pursuit and yelling nasty slurs at your back. You felt fear for the first time in years as you threw yourself over the last fence, the pound of music still in your ears and hurting your head. You were close to your house, only a few streets away, and you had forgotten how to breathe. 

"Oi! Come back here, you stupid fag!" Somehow, you could still hear the yells.

What happened next happened so quickly that you struggled to process what was happening until it was too late. You looked back and saw the other guys had stopped on the pavement, which confused you because their pursuit had been relentless up until now. You looked forward and saw the pavement getting closer and closer, relieved. Then, something moving fast caught your attention from the corner of your eye and you looked to the side. 

You barely had time to see the car before the loud screeching of the vehicle spinning out of control on the road made you freeze where you were. Like a rabbit in the headlights. Something smacked hard into you- knocking you off your heart- and all you could feel was a sudden numbness in your body. Shock? Death? Maybe. The road was cold against your face. 

A death metal song was still screaming in your ears when you blacked out.


	3. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, I'll proofread but it's nearly midnight so that day is not today. 
> 
> 2D's POV.

You tried to slam your foot onto the breaks when you saw the dark figure running out into the road but the car had already been sent spinning by the ice on the road. 

It's nothing like they describe it in movies: crashing a car. For starters, your life didn't flash in front of your eyes. In fact, the whole thing happened so fast that you didn't even have a second to think about what was going to happen before it happened. Everything happened at once, moving too fast for you to think. And even when you could think, all you could think was that:

_I'm crashing the car._

You were so numb that the thought didn't even bother you. You thought about crashing the car the same way you would usually think about maybe popping to the shops to buy some ciggies later. It meant nothing to you. They were just words. In your head. Thoughts. 

"I'm crashing the car." You weren't even sure if you had muttered it out loud or if it was just something you thought to yourself. You had grabbed the wheel to bring it to a stop and slam your foot on the brakes finally but it was too late to stop the car knocking the figure flying. You were jerked around in the car, keeping your mouth shut so you didn't scream as you spun off the road. You couldn't stop yourself from being thrown about, even though you had your seatbelt on. You closed your eyes tightly so you didn't have to see. 

You felt the same sense of helplessness you felt that day you fell out of the tree and nobody came to help you for hours. The same tears of helplessness pricked in your eyes. There was a sickening crash as the car spilled onto it's side and you were thrown up against the window. Something in your side hurt. You hoped it wasn't glass from the window. The car skidded along the ground for a while before it came to a stop. There were sounds of pain that might have belonged to you but you weren't really sure. It was blurry. 

You weren't sure how you managed to crawl your way out of the car and roll onto the pavement but you did it. Your body hit the cement and every part of your body felt weightless and aching. Breathing frantically, desperately, you tried to put together what just happened but it was just jumbled puzzle pieces. You looked at the car, absolutely smashed on one side, and felt the throbbing pain of your hip against the cement. Something sticky was in your hair and wet on your hands and it was so shockingly, astoundingly red that you were shocked. You wiped your hands on your jeans but they were sticky with red substances too. You couldn't think. 

"I've crashed the car." You repeated to yourself, still trying and struggling to process it. You ran your hands through your hair, flinching at the pain, and streaked blood through it. 

There was a groan from nearby that seemed to snap you out of your numb state for at least half a second and you looked around dizzily to see where it was coming from. There was a huddled, unmoving dark lump lying on the pavement nearby and when you crawled closer, you saw that it was just a kid lying there. He couldn't be more than early twenties and he didn't seem to be moving at all. You pushed him onto his side because you've dealt with enough drunk people to know how to deal with that at least- stop him choking. A sense of panic finally set in somewhere in the back of your mind and you started to breathe quicker. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

"Don't die." You pleaded with the young man lying on the pavement, "Please! Please, don't die! I didn't want to hurt anybody. I didn't want to hurt you. Please, wake up! You can't be dying. You can't be, you can't be, you can't be!" 

A faint murmur had come from the young man that you barely heard. "Oh, _hell_." 

That meant that he was still alive. You looked around in hopes of seeing sirens and you saw people beginning to gather around, staring at both of you. Some of them were snapping pictures on their cellphones and gawping- you supposed it was one of those things. You grabbed frantically for the nearest person but they just force you back down, telling you they've already called an ambulance and to just stay still. You collapsed back onto the floor, dumbly. 

Staring around, you found your eyes falling back onto the boy on the ground. The boy that you had managed to hit with your car. You felt terrible; he looked terrible. He was still lying on his side, curled in like he was protecting himself from being kicked, and looked pained. His dark eyebrows were pulled tightly together and he kept gasping, like the pain kept hitting him. There was blood matted in his hair and his clothes were torn, scratches visible on his skin. 

"Don't move until the ambulance gets here." You repeated the words of the person to the boy on the ground, "Just stay there."

"I wasn't planning to bloody go anywhere." He opened one eye to look at you, "Mum is going to flip her nut when she finds out about this." 

Maybe it was you finally starting to go delirious from shock but you could have sworn that the eye staring dully at you, the eye of the boy, was a shade of brown that looked more red than anything else. Bloody red iris. You couldn't break your eyes away from it the entire time you were waiting for the ambulance. You gripped his hand tightly between both of yours, switching between words and hums and songs- frantic movements to keep yourself alive. You could feel his warm hand, sweating between both of yours, and you didn't know what to do. 

The boy muttered darkly to himself for a while, barely understandable. Then, he went eerily quiet and his open eye rolled up into his head. The other one he didn't seem to be able to open at all. You didn't realise that he was unconscious until the medic pulled you away from him and his hand fell limply onto the ground beside him. You were hustled away into an ambulance. 

You thought the kid was going to die. 

And now, you were sitting with a police officer in the medical room and they explained to you that the kid was somehow still alive- he was awake, even, just a few rooms away. It had been an accident, the road had been icy, and the kid's parents weren't going to press any kind of charges on you. That was a relief, at least. Though, you were more relieved to hear that the kid had somehow come out of it without any major injuries and begged to be allowed to see him. You just wanted to see him with his eyes open. One time. Then, the guilt would ease. 

The police officer agreed, standing up. "His parents want to talk to you anyway." 

"What's the kid called?" You asked, following suit and getting to your feet. You brushed yourself off and tried not to focus too much on the blue cast that your right wrist had ended up in. It was going to be a bitch to play keyboard with that clumpy thing on but you guessed it could be worse. You'd come away from the accident with only a few bad scrapes and some stitches in your head. And you'd recovered from head injuries before. 

The police officer looked bemused. "You don't know Murdoc Pot?" 

"Never heard nothing 'bout him." You shrugged. Clearly, the kid was some kind of local celebrity or delinquent if the surprise on the officer's face was anything to go by. 

"He's a troublemaker. I don't know what he was thinking, running into the road like that. But if anybody is going to run headfirst into a car and act pissed about being injured, it's him." The police officer shook their head and let out a sigh, stopping by a closed door, "He's in here. Make sure to duck if he throws anything at you." 

"Wha-?" The police officer opened the door for you and confused, you stepped inside. 

The hospital room looked just like yours had done: clean, fresh, and bright. In the bed, the boy slumped in direct contrast with his poor hygiene and ugly scowl on his face. You observed him curiously and saw that the police officer was right, he didn't look too bad. He was a bit bruised and a bit roughed up but he didn't look as close to death as he had a few hours ago. Of course, the stark difference was his right eye. At first, you thought it had been knocked completely out of his head but on closer inspection, it just seemed to have turned a dull black. 

The eye which remained unhurt was still a hideous brownish-reddish colour. 

By the side of the bed, there is a woman dressed in a nurse's uniform and a man you didn't recognise. The woman looked familiar to you. But you couldn't place where you'd seen her before. You scratched your head and stared at the three people. They all stared back. Then, as predicted, the boy in the bed chucked a book at your head. You forgot what the police officer had said and didn't duck out of the way. It hit you square in the face. 

You reeled backwards, clutching at your nose. Luckily, it didn't bleed. It just hurt. 

The boy's voice sounded gravelly- a smoker like you. "You're the bastard that put me here, eh?" 

"Uh, yeah. I guess I am." You agreed, gingerly, hoping he didn't have anything else to throw at you, "I didn't mean to." 

The boy, ( _Murdoc, his name is Murdoc_ ) scoffed at you. "Idiot."

His dad got up to shake your hand and introduced himself as David Pot. Then, he introduced his wife, Rachel. It wasn't until he gestured to the nurse that you realised she was Murdoc's mum. Neither of his parents looked anything like him. You didn't know what to say. You couldn't very well introduce yourself again because they already knew you, didn't they? 

"Are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" Murdoc demanded, "Haven't you got more innocent people to knock down?" 

You were easy to hate. That had been made quite clear to you over the years that you'd spent being picked on by anyone and everyone within a hundred miles. But normally, people only hated you after you opened your mouth and they realised you were stupid. You didn't understand why Murdoc hated you. Didn't he know it had all been an accident?

His dad seemed irritated. "Murdoc, you know it was an accident. You ran out into the road and Mr Pot couldn't stop in time because of the icy weather. Nobody's to blame." 

The room just felt more uncomfortable now. 

"Um, you can just call me Stuart. If you want to." You said, "Or Stu. That's fine too." 

"Stuart." Murdoc sneered it like it was a filthy word. 

His mum patted his arm fondly. "That's enough, Murdoc." 

The silence that followed that particular statement lasted longer than an episode of Top of the Pops, it felt like. You just stood there awkwardly, unsure whether you should leave or not, while the family exchanged looks. Rachel was still petting her son like he was a strange dog she wanted to befriend but didn't want to bite her hand off. Reluctantly, it seemed, Murdoc sat there and let her with a right look on his face. He looked like he wanted to smash something against a brick wall and he didn't care what. Mr Pot looked unsure too, almost as uncomfortable as you were, standing there with his hands in his pockets. 

"Anyway... I was just popping in." You said, finally, "T'was nice to meet you, Murdoc." 

Murdoc just grumbled at you. You smiled, unsure, and left. 

His dad followed you outside and closed the door behind you, tapping you on the shoulder before you could walk away. You turned back to him, surprised. You'd think that you nearly killing his son with a car to the face would be enough to put him off you for a while. But you stayed, obediently. Wondered if he would yell. Wondered if you should duck. 

When you didn't say anything, Mr Pot started to talk. You shifted from foot to foot. 

"Murdoc's... He's a special boy." Mr Pot explained to you.

You nodded, lost. Maybe you'd missed something? 

"He came to us when he was ten years old and being shuffled from home to home had riled him up a bit over the years. Made him a bit rebellious." Murdoc's dad looked stressed, "He's got a bit of reputation around here for being a troublemaker." 

You thought about the police officer's words. "I get you, Mr Pot." 

Mr Pot nodded. "We love him a great deal, Stuart. Please understand that."

"Yeah." You said because he'd paused pointedly for a response. 

You were suddenly worried a lot more about where this conversation was going. A gleam of hope had appeared in Mr Pot's eyes, buried somewhere deep in his troubled expression. There were lines worn into his face from frowning. He looked much older than he should be by all accounts and you wonder if raising Murdoc turned his hairs silver-grey. You wonder if he's about to ask you a favour. You wonder why he's not mad at you. 

Mr Pot rubbed his temples and frowned. "Our son... My son... He's in his twenties now, yeah? And him living at home... It's making our lives difficult even before we've got to deal with him hanging around the house all the time with broken ribs." 

You hadn't even noticed his ribs were broken. "Sounds hard, sir." 

"It's a lot to ask but..." Mr Pot sighed, "My wife spoke to you about a week ago when you were lost and she said you were living in a flat alone. We- _I_ \- was just curious whether you were looking for a roommate. Um..." 

You hesitated before speaking. "Are you kicking Murdoc out, Mr Pot?" 

One glance at Mr Pot's face told you the answer to that question. He looked so defeated, so tired, and the hairs turning grey at his temples told you that he was too exhausted to deal with crap anymore. His expression was apologetic but needy like he didn't want to ask anything of you but was being forced to do so anyway. He wanted Murdoc out of his house. He needed Murdoc out of his life. And he was trying to force his problem child onto you, somebody he'd never met before. Something about it made you feel guilty. You thought. 

You'd considered a roommate briefly, knowing that your stolen fund would no doubt run out eventually and you hadn't even scouted for a job yet. But you'd decided against it in the end. You'd never lived with another person before, family aside, and you didn't know if you'd be able to. What if you didn't like them? What if they didn't like you? If you sung in the shower, would they think you weird? What if they smashed up your keyboard? You frowned. 

You didn't know much about Murdoc but you knew that he didn't like you. 

Licking your lips, you followed up. "If I say no, where's he going instead?" 

"I don't know. I have no idea." Mr Pot looked sad, "But we were going to give him a week to find somewhere. He's an adult now, he's got to learn to figure these things out." 

_No matter what excuse you use_ , you thought to yourself, _you're still kicking your son out of the house just because he's difficult. Maybe he's a problem and maybe he's making you pull your hair out but if you really loved him, you wouldn't make him homeless._

"Yeah, alright then." You said because the thought of Murdoc with his tired eyes and scowl sitting on the pavement outside his parent's house in the cold made you feel guilty, "I could use a roommate. Just... I'll give you my mobile number, yeah?"

You'd gotten one of those cheap mobiles just yesterday with one of those pay-as-you-go packages. Seemed like a great deal to you. Your old phone had been chucked away as soon as you'd decided to leave so that nobody would find you. You wrote the new number down and gave it to Mr Pot before leaving. You didn't want to get stuck with anything else he had to unload on you. Dragging your feet, you wondered if the hospital allowed for cigarette breaks. Probably not, you decided. You tried to find someone who can sign you out. 

Since your car was pretty knackered, you had to take the bus home. At least you could get some insurance on it or something but you'd really hoped that car would last you longer. The bus ticket was affordable and you took a seat towards the back, by one of the windows. You liked to watch the streets stream past outside and remind you where you were. Just the thought of the quiet flat after such a long day seems quite appealing. Sighing, you leaned your head against the window and enjoyed the cold on your sore head. 

Immediately, your mind drifted back to your conversation with Mr Pot. You still weren't sure why exactly he'd picked you to pawn his son off onto, when he barely knew you- and all he did know about you was that you'd hit his son with a car- or what you were supposed to do. If you didn't say yes, some guy would be pretty much be homeless because of you. Thinking about it now, you supposed you had been blackmailed in a way. 

"Man, you okay?" A concerned voice pulled you out of your thoughts. 

Blinking a few times, you opened your eyes and saw that the man sitting in front of you had turned around to frown at you. You must have zoned out again- that happened sometimes. The man was unfamiliar but you liked the way he looked; shaved head, thick eyebrows, and a hip hop kind of look you know is popular in some parts of America. 

"Yeah... Yeah, sorry." You realised your head was still pressed against the window and sat up straight, touching the new stitches in your skin, "I'm tired." 

"You look it." The man chuckled, "You gonna be okay to get home?"

"Uh..." You frowned out of the window, "'Soon as I remember where my stop is." 

The man laughed the same way he did before, not in an unfriendly way, but then seemed to realise that you actually weren't joking at all. That made his thick eyebrows meet in the middle again like he wasn't sure what to say to you. You managed to spot a name badge stuck to his front- Russ. Maybe it was Russel and he just couldn't fit the rest of his name there. He sounded like he was an American, maybe somewhere tangy like Brooklyn. You liked his voice. 

"You just get those stitches today?" Russ changed the subject, pointing at your head, "They look like they hurt. Did the hospital just let you walk away without keeping you overnight?"

You shrugged. "Suppose so. Didn't really think about it." 

Maybe they were busy. The woman at the desk had been in a rush to sign you out. 

Glancing around the bus, you wished you could: first of all, figure out where you were supposed to get off the bloody bus and second of all, hurry up and get there so that you could have a fag. Your hands were already trembling when you tried to hold them still on your lap. Instead, you gripped the top of the chair in front of you so that it wasn't obvious to Russ, (the name didn't fit great, you hoped it was short for Russel), that you're shaky. He already looked like he wanted to take you back to the hospital and make them keep you there overnight. 

Did you really look that bad?

"Listen..." He said, finally, "Don't take offence at this or anything but I'm gonna take you home. Just to make sure that you get there okay. I'm gonna feel terrible if you pass out on the sidewalk somewhere and nobody finds you 'til tomorrow." 

You supposed that answered your question. 

You nodded at him, holding out one hand to shake. "I'm Stuart. Stuart Pot. But Stu's fine." 

"Russel Hobbs." The man told you, "Drummer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like... The Pots wouldn't be able to handle Murdoc very well. Hm. And Stu's too nice to say no to anybody really. Even though Murdoc doesn't like him. 
> 
> No, this is not how hospitals work and no, I don't know where this fic is set. Some fictional place. I'm lazy. 
> 
> Murdoc and 2D both surviving a crash as bad as that with few injuries seems unlikely too somehow but whatever. Murdoc has a totally boss black eye to match his red one now. 
> 
> I need to go to sleep. Thanks for reading.


	4. Homeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realised this fic's a bit of a slow build. Oops.

Well, you couldn't pretend that you didn't see the day coming. 

After all, your mum and dad weren't going to put up with you forever, were they? Not considering how much trouble you seemed to attract day after day. You swore it wasn't your fault; it wasn't your fault that you attracted assholes and assholes attracted your fist to their faces. Anyway, your mum said that Mr Stuart Pot had said you could live him. 

"Why the fuck would I want to live with him?" You'd yelled that at her too. She'd looked hurt. That made you feel guilty so you had stormed away from her. And now, you were outside. 

You didn't have a clue why your parents would ask the guy who smacked you with his car to let you live with him. And you have no idea why the guy agreed. But you could wager a guess that they weighed him down with guilt so that he took you off their hands. Your dad probably jumped at the chance to get rid of you. You didn't think he liked you much. Your mum seemed to like you enough but you knew the second time she picked you up from the police station that you were just a problem to her. You just got in the way of things. 

Frustrated, you kicked a lone can into the gutter and glared at it. Fine, then. Let them kick you out. But you weren't going to pick up and live with the blue-haired moron that had nearly cost you your life. Maybe he should have bloody killed you. Then, you wouldn't have to see him again at least. There wasn't any sign of him showing up soon anyway; maybe he'd changed his mind about putting up with you. You certainly hoped so. You paced back and forth on the pavement outside your house and kept an eye out for Stuart. Ugh. That didn't sound right. 

"Stupid fucking parents." You muttered to yourself as another hour passed and there was still no sign of Stuart. By now, you'd resorted to sitting on the pavement with your legs out in the road and your happiness lying in the gutter with the can. Your mum had come outside and tried to convince you to come back in until Stuart arrived but you just scowled at her. The whole point of kicking somebody out of your house is that you don't want them there. And you weren't an idiot. Sitting inside playing families wasn't your idea of fun. 

There was two boxes of your belongings sitting by you on the curb that your mum had brought outside and left beside you. You dug through them briefly but it was mostly just your clothes and a few of your old records and CDs and cassettes. Nothing to play them on. Your Walkman had been destroyed alongside your ribs but you still found it in the box, crushed to pieces. You threw it at the prick who lived next door when he tried to talk to you. Judging by the way the other neighbours were eyeing you through the curtains, you must have looked pretty pitiful. Fucking great. You pulled your legs closer and groaned at the pain in your midriff. Satan's sake. 

When Stuart finally arrived, you were resting your head on your knees and were already halfway to sleep. All the yelling must have tired the shit out of you. You didn't even hear Stuart's footsteps approaching. He scared the shit out of you when he approached silently and patted you on the shoulder. You instinctively flailed and managed to get a right knock to his face, making him stumble backwards and clutch at his nose. It bled for a few seconds but he pinched it until it stopped. You didn't apologise but he gave you a look that showed you didn't need to. He knew it was an accident. 

"You know, this ain't exactly ideal for me either." Stuart wiped the last of the blood on the sleeve of his shirt and sat down on the pavement beside you, "But living with me is better than living nowhere, yeah? You don't know me... But I promise I'm not annoying or nothing." 

You rolled your eyes. "You're a bit thick though, aren't you?"

Stuart just shrugged and if the look on his face was anything to go by, this wasn't the first time that he'd been told that. You didn't feel bad about it. You knew that you could be blunt sometimes and he was going to live with you, he'd have to get used to it. He rubbed at his nose again but the rest of the blood had already dried. You weren't sure what to say. 

"They're kicking me out." You said, finally. 

Somehow, saying it out loud to somebody else made it sound a whole lot sadder than when you were yelling it earlier today. Because you were yelling it before to make a point and then, you were just saying it because it was true. It was like the reality finally hit you and your stomach sunk miserably. You looked at Stuart. He looked away from you. 

"Yeah. Yeah, they are." He agreed, "Sorry." 

"It's not really your fault." You said, "They were always going to kick me out eventually, weren't they?"

"I dunno." Stuart said, scratching the back of his neck, "It could be worse. They don't seem like bad people. They don't..." He trailed off with a weird look on his face before fixing his gaze on his hands; his fingers twist around each other uncertainly, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Stuart."

"We already met, you moron." You rolled your eyes, "You hit me with a car, remember?" 

He cringed-guilt?- and nodded. "I wondered if maybe we could start again?" 

Jesus, how many people had tried that with you? Too many to count. You were really good at getting off on the wrong foot with people. You rubbed at your eyes, already feeling a little bit frustrated with the bloke, and looked at him. Really looked at him. You hadn't really had a proper chance to do that yet or if you'd had the chance, you hadn't taken it. 

Stuart was a lot taller than you, even when both of you were sitting down, and his arms and legs seemed awkwardly long for his body. His knees were folded outwards as he sat, making him look like some kind of insect. His hair was sticking out at all angles but it didn't seem to be for stylish reasons. More than once, he ran his hands through it without even realising he was doing it. Not to mention, his hair was a bright shade of blue. Obnoxiously blue. His eyes were a boring shade of brown. Some of his teeth were missing and the rest were ugly. Mismatched. 

More importantly than how he looked, there was the look on his face. The pinch in his forehead that made him look older than he probably was; he looked worried, anxious, and seemed to wear this expression all of the time. But when he glanced back at you, finally looking away from his fidgeting hands, he had a small smile on his face. Your stomach turned. 

"I'm Murdoc. Murdoc Pot." You finally said, sticking out a hand for him to shake. 

He made a grab for your hand but you pulled it back last minute just to annoy him. Then, you shook his hand, noting how cold his hands were. You supposed the two of you were sitting out here in English weather. You wondered if your mum was sneaking peeks at this from the window of the house and instantly withdrew your hand. You rubbed it against your knee. 

"Let's get out of here." You stood, flicking your hair out of your eyes, "I don't want to be near them anymore."

"Do you want to move your things to my place or-"

You looked at your depressingly small boxes. "Nah. I just want to get out of here. Right now. We can come back for that shit later." 

Standing up, Stuart towered over you. You felt like a child next to him and that made you feel even more shit than before. At least he didn't do anything stupid like ask you where you wanted to go- he just started walking down the pavement away from the house. You had to walk twice as fast to keep up with his long strides. No doubt the bloody nosy neighbours were spying out of their windows at you and when you caught one of them staring of their fence, you flipped them the bird. God, you would be glad to get away from these people.

"Oi." You said to Stuart, eventually, "Slow down, yeah? Not all of us are giants." 

"Sorry." He apologised too quickly, you noticed that about him, and he slowed his pace abruptly, "I'm not used to having... Other people around." 

Friends. Stuart didn't have friends. Finally, you thought as your heart started pounding involuntarily with excitement, somebody that was like you. Somebody who got it. 

You shrugged. "S'alright. Anywhere you want to go?" 

Stuart considered this for a long minute, staring up at the sky. Grey clouds hung overhead. 

"Fancy a chippy?" He said and you told him you knew just the place. 

Since the accident, you hadn't exactly had much time to investigate the girl who'd saved your arse the other day. You were curious about her. Not anything pervy, mind you, you just thought it was weird that you'd never seen her before. You thought you knew most of the other kids from this area of the city. You'd lived here a long time. Most of your life. 

The chip shop looked the same as it does everyday- rundown and greasy. It smelt like fleshy fish covered in batter and chips coated in salt, the kind of disgusting that made your mouth water as soon as you stepped inside. There was no sign of anybody inside but the sign on the door had definitely said open. You banged your fist against the counter, hoping to get the attention of anybody further in the shop. Somebody yelled something from the back.

The Asian girl popped into sight. "Hai, hai! I'm coming!" 

"Oh. 'Ello." Stuart waved as she approached, "Can we get two lots of chips?"

The girl shuffled over and slid aside the glass, scooping up chips. She wasn't wearing a nametag like the staff here usually did; she wasn't even dressed in the uniform to work here. She was dressed normally... With the exception of the guitar that was strapped to her back. A Les Paul, you noted, and your eyes widened. You leaned over the counter to get a better look and she blinked up at you. It was a bloody excellent guitar. 

"Sir?" She asked, looking confused. 

"Oh, sorry, love." You reached forward, "Can I just get a better look at that guitar?" 

You made a swipe for it and she caught by the wrist in less than a second, twisting your arm around. It hurt like a bitch and you let out a grunt of pain as she pinned your arm to the counter. She glared at you, her eyebrows pulling together. Stuart laughed, nervously. When she finally released your arm, you pulled back and stepped away from the counter. No way where you giving that little monster any more chances to snap your arm out of its socket. 

"No. Guitar is mine. You no touch it." She told you, firmly. 

Stuart scratched his head, ruffling his hair. "You can actually play that thing? That's brilliant. I don't think I could play a guitar until I was like twenty. And even then, I was not very good." He offered her a hand to shake over the counter, "I'm Stuart."

The girl shook his hand. "I am Noodle. Nice to meet you. Here are chips." 

She handed him two portions of chips wrapped in greasy paper like scruffy packages. Stuart gave her money over the counter and what looked like a very heavy tip. He was obviously as charmed by her guitar as you were- and the fact that she could play it too! You just watched the interaction, feeling a little left behind. They'd both clearly forgotten you were there. The girl, Noodle, offered to shake your hand too after releasing you were still standing there and you did so reluctantly. She smiled widely at you before waving goodbye. 

As soon as you step back outside into cold, you decided that you'd definitely gotten more questions than answers. For starters, it seemed like you'd stumbled into two people just as musical as you were without even realising it. Studying Stuart as you walked, you wouldn't have placed him as a musician. The blue hair might have been a sign. He sat down on a nearby bench and began to unwrap his chips. He handed you yours. You sat down beside him. 

He asked you before you could ask him. "You like music, Muds?" 

Picking open your chips, you popped a few in your mouth and chewed thoughtfully. To say you liked music might not be expressing it right, you thought. Music was the only thing that had ever really mattered to you. It had been your only escape from this dull, delinquent life you'd been living for so many years. You could lose yourself in music. Whether you were listening or sneaking practises on the bass guitar in the shop, music was your safest place.

"It's all I have, really." You said, eventually, without realising how sad it sounded, "You sounded like you knew what you were talking about back there. You play guitar?"

Stuart laughed. "Nah. I can play bits and pieces on a few instruments. A bit of guitar, a bit of melodica, you know. But I play keyboard mostly. You might have to get used to that if you're going to live with me. What do you play?"

"Bass." You said, before explaining, "I don't actually have the guitar yet. There was a bit of a hoo-hah when I tried to nick the bass from the shop so I've got to work it off. Can't afford to buy it. But I play it when I'm supposed to be working."

"Your boss doesn't care?" Stuart sounded surprised. 

You shrugged. "He's high off his tits most of the time." 

This is already the longest and most interesting conversation you've had with Stuart. 

"We could play together sometime." Stuart suggested, "You know, if you want. It might be fun or something. I've never played with anybody else before. Dad didn't really let me..." He trailed off, "It doesn't matter." 

Something about the way he corrected himself sent a shiver down your spine and you got the idea that there was a little more to Stuart's backstory than maybe you thought. Or maybe it was just the painkillers finally starting to wear off. Thoughtfully, you went back to stuffing chips in your mouth and thought over his suggestion. It made your head spin to think that somebody might actually want to hear you play bass. Nobody had ever heard you play before. That's what came of not being able to bring your bass guitar home with you. 

"Alright, then. We can play together." 

Slowly, a grin spread across Stuart's face. It made his whole face look better, less tired, and his body seemed to straighten up a little more. He looked less hurt for a second, less like he was afraid you were going to snap at him. Honestly, you would have thought it made him look beautiful if you were into his type. But you weren't. 

"Alright, then." He said.

"Any other annoying habits I should know about? Aside from playing the keyboard." 

Stuart looked thoughtful. "I'm a smoker. Not an addict. Or maybe I am. I get migraines a lot. My head's a bit wonky. I have pills for it though." He ate a few more chips and added, "I think I sing in the shower sometimes. I dunno, though." 

"You don't know?" You couldn't help sneering at the moron, "How stupid are you?"

Stuart didn't seem offended. "I dunn-"

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes. You wondered if your empty eye rolled too. 

You sat in silence for a while then, eating, until you were done. Or till you were done, Stuart just seemed to give up halfway through. You chucked the rubbish in the bin and when you turned back Stuart was lighting a cigarette already, balancing it between his teeth. When he caught you looking, he held the pack out to you. You lit it on the same flame. He suggested the both of you went back to get your stuff and then went back to his place. You supposed you didn't have anything better to do. That idiot was your flatmate now. It was weird to think about. 

As you walked, you smoked. It was a habit you'd started just to piss your parents off- you didn't even enjoy it really- and once you'd made sure everybody had seen you smoking it, you tossed it away. Stuart wasn't like you, he smoked until his fingers were at risk of burning. It seemed like he needed it. He looked reluctant to put it out. There was something more to him than you could see, you were sure. He smiled lopsidedly at you when he caught your eye and tucked both hands in his pockets. He seemed... So nice. You weren't sure what to do about it. 

"I'm a satanist, you know. Yeah." You settled on, as a "fuck you" to him being nice. 

"Oh. Cool." Stuart seemed mostly unfazed, "Never met one of those before. I'm a bit of a Buddhist." 

"'Course you are." You replied, wondering whether you should take the piss out of him. 

Back at the house- you couldn't refer to it as your home anymore- your stuff was sitting out on the lawn still. You picked up both of the boxes, stacking them easily, and wondered about calling a taxi. Stuart didn't exactly have a car since he'd destroyed it when he smacked it into you. You wondered if your ugly face dented it. That was when your mum came outside and offered to give you a lift there. Stuart agreed and you just looked away, letting your hair fall in your face so you didn't have to look at her. The car ride was awkward. 

Stuart and your mum talked and you sat in the backseat like you were a child. Your mum wouldn't let you play any of your CDs or even have the radio on because she didn't want to "shout over the top of that noise". So, you just stared out of the window and wondered if Stuart was good at playing the keyboard. All he said was that he played it. If he was shit, then you might have to take back your offer of playing with him. 

When the car came to a stop, you didn't see anything remarkable. Just some flats. 

Stuart opened the car door for you. "Alright, Muds, let's go." 

"It's Murdoc." You grunted, getting out of the car, "I don't do nicknames." 

Your mum tried to hug you but you just ignored her, getting your boxes out of the car and heading towards the building. Even when Stuart prompted you, you didn't turn back to wave at her. You just headed up the stairs and kept your eyes straight ahead. Stuart didn't say anything about it but he seemed nervous about something. Maybe he didn't want you in his flat after all. The thought made your heart sink a little but you crushed the feeling. 

He put a box of your stuff down and turned his key in the lock, flipping on the flickering lights, and you got your first look at the flat. You weren't sure you could call this place home yet. It was a fairly plain apartment with a minimal amount of furniture. Just a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV in the main room. A few scattered posters- most of them half-ruined- pinned up on the walls. There was a keyboard that had seen better days sitting on the floor by the sofa. The coffee table was covered in loose prescription drugs and cigarettes. A lonely ash tray. 

There were three doors leading away and you guessed: bathroom, two bedrooms. 

"I ain't got much." Stuart said, closing the door behind you, "I ain't got anywhere for you to sleep tonight either but your mum was saying about moving your bed here tomorrow. Either you get the sofa or the floor in the spare room. You can put your things anywhere." 

You glanced around again. "This place is a bit shit." 

Stuart nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry." 

"I love it. Really punk feeling to it." You licked your lips, "I think you and me are going to be alright, Stu."


	5. Depressed

You took a bite of your toast and stared bleary-eyes at the comics in the paper. You had a habit of flicking through the serious articles without really looking just to get to the comics. They were getting worse and worse; you didn't even get a laugh out of them that day. 

You folded the paper and threw it at the gathering pile of other papers just by the bin. No point keeping them around if they don't do anything useful. You took another bite of your burnt toast and enjoyed the crunch between your teeth. It was about midday but you didn't have anywhere better to be, considering you didn't have a job and you stocked up on some groceries yesterday. Living with Murdoc gave you the realisation that eating meals was something you had to do. You stuck a hundred post-it notes up to remind you to feed him and yourself. 

Speaking of Murdoc, you hadn't seen him all morning. He'd already gone to work when you'd woken up and left a half-arsed scrawled note to tell you so, which included a rather scratchy drawing of you dribbling in your sleep. The fact he'd come into your room when you were sleeping made you feel a bit weird but you didn't put too much thought into it. Murdoc was a bit weird overall and you were adjusting to living with that. 

"Right, then." You finished up your toast and stacked the plate on top of the other ones living in the sink, "I'm going to go out. Have a bit of a poke around." 

You weren't sure who you were announcing it to but it felt good to say it out loud. It was like telling the world that you could look after yourself just fine. You get up and head to the door, putting on your coat and zipping it up. All those years, your dad was wrong about you never being able to do anything for yourself. You were doing just fine on your own. You were taking care of yourself (and Murdoc) most of the time and it was good. Everything was good. 

True to your words, you ended up going for a bit of a wander before deciding where you wanted to go. There was a record shop, you'd discovered, that wasn't that far away from your flat and that seemed like your kind of place. When you stepped inside, there was some kind of grungy music playing on the speakers overhead. You didn't recognise it but you liked it. 

"Hey, man." The guy behind the counter addressed you and when you looked up, making eye contact, he didn't seem to recognise you, "Welcome to the store. How can I help? You looking for anything specific or just browsing?"

It was Russel, the man from the bus who had helped you get home. You remembered him saying something about memory loss when you spoke to him that night but you didn't think he wouldn't recognise you. Luckily, you weren't bad at remembering people when you'd met so few in this new city. Russel. Noodle. Murdoc's family. Murdoc. That was about it. 

"We've met before." You squinted at him, "I'm Stuart. Stuart Niccals. We met on the bus."

The man's eyes widened. "We did? Sorry, I'm not great when it comes to remembering names or faces. Or much, really. I try to write things down but I forget to do that too most of the time. Well, it's nice to meet you again, Stuart." 

You approached the counter and stood on the other side. "Actually, you can call me 2D for short if you want. It's a nickname. Murdoc gave it to me. I think I like it a lot more than Stu but I dunno. I'm still thinking about it."

Despite him being reluctant to let you call him nicknames, Murdoc had stuck you with a nickname after deciding that Stuart just didn't sound right. He'd started calling you "Too Dense" at first because "you're pretty dense, aren't you?". But he'd shortened it quickly to 2D, which you liked. It sounded a lot neater and cooler than Stuart and Murdoc seemed to like calling you by it. You liked that he called you a nickname. It made you feel like more of a mate and less of a problem. 

"Okay, 2D." Russel laughed, not in an unfriendly way, "Anyway, what are you after? We've got all kinds of records around here. Mostly rap but that doesn't seem like your style."

"I'll listen to anything." You shrugged, "Dunno much about rap though. I'm not really here to find anything, I just not got much to do and Murdoc's at work." 

"Murdoc's your..?" Russel squeezed out from behind the counter and headed off like he was looking for something.

You shuffled after him. "He's my roommate. We're mates now, I think. Even if he only lives with me because his parents kicked him out. He's younger than me but he's got a job so I don't get to see him much during the day. I ain't really got any other mates to hang around with." 

Russel nodded, shifting through some records. "I know the feeling, man. I only moved to the UK about a month ago and it's hard. It doesn't help that I keep forgetting things. And that English people make no damn sense half the time." 

You didn't know what he meant by that but you agreed anyway. After flicking through a few records, he handed you one and told you to go and put it on the record player. You did so, expertly, and the music started playing. You hadn't listened to much rap before but you liked it. You liked the beat to it and the raw honesty of the lyrics. You ended up staying there for most of the afternoon, playing records when Russel told you to and sitting on the counter to chat to him. Russel told you a lot about America because it was what he could remember best. He couldn't remember why he'd moved over here but he was sure there was a reason. 

You ended up getting home in time for tea. "Murdoc, I'm back." 

"About bloody time." was the response that came from the sofa, where Murdoc was slumped with his eyes mostly shut and MTV playing on the television set, "Have you seen this crap that they're calling music now?"

One of Murdoc's favourite subjects was how much he hated pop music and culture at the moment. He always talked about the good old days, even though most of them seemed to happen before he was even born. He also talked about wanting to show Justin Timberlake some real music. Murdoc liked a lot of death metal. You didn't really get it... But you nodded. 

"Yeah, I've seen it, Muds." You made him budge up so you could sit on the sofa too, "If you hate it so much, you should watch something else. Like that channel that plays all the zombie movies."

"I'm sick of the zombie crap too. The only reason you like it is because you haven't got a brain so a zombie is the only thing you can relate to." Murdoc snorted, "Where have you been all afternoon? I presumed you'd fallen into a ditch somewhere." 

"Record shop." You said, "I haven't fallen in a ditch since I was eleven." 

That made Murdoc chuckle and he glanced at you. You didn't think you'd ever be able to get used to his mismatched eyes- one of them red and the other one so dark it looked like a hole in his head. Combined with the upside cross around his neck, you could see why the local police seemed to think he was trouble. At least he was wearing a shirt today. You didn't know prior to living with Murdoc but the man didn't wear a shirt very often. It was something that you were adjusting to. But you weren't used to it yet. You looked away. 

"You find anything good there?" Murdoc lifted his legs up and rested them across your lap, slouching further down on the sofa, "Haven't had a chance to check out anything new in a while." 

You thought hard for a moment. "I think rap music might be quite good." 

"You mean that American gangster rubbish? It's alright, I suppose." Murdoc's eyes flicked to the rapper dripping with gold chains on the TV screen, "Good when it's done right. Anything's good when it's done right." 

You agreed whole-heartedly. "Yeah. Can you open the window?"

"Why? You want a smoke?" He narrowed his eyes as he swung his legs around and got up; he fiddled with the sticky lock on the window and pushed it wide open, letting the cool breeze in, "Flipping heck, it's cold out there." 

You lit a cigarette expertly and puffed on it, sliding down the sofa. Murdoc settled back down with his legs spread across you. The smoke was sucked mostly out of the window but as a punishment, you had to sit in the cold the whole time that you smoked. You shivered the third time you inhaled and Murdoc picked something up off the floor and threw it at you. His coat. You pulled it over you without a second thought. 

"Now, can we please change the channel?" You pleaded.

"Fine." Murdoc said, gruffly, chucking the remote at you too. 

A lot of days went by that during the first winter you knew each other. You would see Murdoc sometimes in the morning if you woke up early or just didn't sleep at all. He was never wearing a shirt and if he caught you looking, he flexed what little muscle he had. Bleary eyed, you'd bump into him as he was leaving the bathroom and you were entering. It surprised you because Murdoc didn't seem like the kind of person who could get up early but he did every single day. You were surprised how committed he was to his job. 

"I really want that bass." He told you one day, when you asked him over breakfast, "It's the most beautiful bass, 2D. If that bass was a girl, I'd look it in the eyes while I did it and actually call it the next week for another date. You get what I'm saying?" 

So, he wasn't gay. Another surprise. It was probably wrong of you to assume something like that but it was just because of what a doctor said when you went to get your wrist checked up. He acted all funny about you moving in with Murdoc and asked what it was like living with somebody who was, uh, _you know_. You didn't know what he meant. He wasn't the only person either. Some lads yelled at you on the street and wanted to know what it was like living with a fag. You thought they meant a cigarette. They didn't. 

"You're not gay then?" You said, as you washed your pills down with orange juice. 

"Wha-?! Fuck off, Stu!" Murdoc spat out a mouthful of beer, (he drank at breakfast and didn't eat anything), "What've people been saying about me? Satan's sake. It was just a misunderstanding! I did it for a bet one time and- seriously, fuck yourself." 

And he refused to speak to you for the rest of the day. Needless to say, you didn't bring up the topic again and instead stuck to safer topics. Like music and how much life sucked. It was safer to keep both of your old lives locked away somewhere they couldn't be found. 

You wouldn't see Murdoc for the most of the day so you mostly just hung about in the flat. You played a lot of keyboard to ease your exhausted mind and recorded some of it to listen to again later. Sometimes, you sung. Your lungs ached from not being used for so long and at first, the words sounded rusty when they left your mouth. But your mouth and lungs soon remembered how to work together to make sweet melodies once again. You listened to a lot of music too, lying on the sofa with your eyes closed and pills crunched between your teeth. 

When you did go out, you wandered about a bit aimlessly. You went to see Russel in his shop or you went to buy some milk because you were running low. Sometimes, you went to Tesco and bought some cheap wine and drunk it in the car park. A few times, you got high round the back of a H&M with some strangers. Once or twice, you went home with some girls and tried to feel alive while you shagged them. You think it might have been a bit boring for them. 

"I think you're depressed because you have nothing to do." Russel told you, when you told him about the endless cycle of nothing you seemed to live in, "It's because you don't have a job or a dream or anything. Having nothing to do all day is killing you, man. You have to find a reason to get out of bed in the morning or what's the point of anything?" 

"I can't be depressed. I have pills for that." You replied, scratching your head, "But maybe I should find something to do. I like music. Maybe I'll do that. Write a song or something. That was what I used to do in high school when- yeah, I'll do that." 

"Good idea, D." Russel had started calling you that, "Come and show me when it's done." 

You hadn't written a song in years and a pencil didn't seem to fit well into your hand anymore. But you wrote words down, crossing them out over and over again, trying to find something that sounded right. You produced... It wasn't a song but it was something. Just a short demo of something you were calling "Ghost Train". You liked the feeling of the keys on the keyboard underneath your fingers and the sound of your voice carrying around the flat. You only had about a minute of audio but that didn't stop Russel from playing it over and over. 

He was surprised by how good your voice sounded. So was Murdoc, when he walked in on you singing one time. That wasn't when you were working on Ghost Train, that was just when you were tacking up a new poster on the wall and the radio was playing some song by Foster The People. You didn't even realise you were singing until the sound of Murdoc dropping his keys on the floor startled you. You turned to him, embarrassed. He looked... Distant. 

"Bloody hell, 2D." He sounded awed, "You kept that talent quiet, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about?" You frowned, confused. 

"Your voice! Your singing!" Murdoc was excited now, forgetting about his keys lying on the floor, "You said you sang but I didn't expect you to actually be good. To be honest, I thought you'd be shit at it. But that wasn't half-bad!" 

"Thanks. My music teacher always said I was well good." You scratched your nose, thoughtfully, "Singing is just something I did for fun though. Never followed it up. My dad always wanted me to get a proper job." 

He finally picked his keys up off the floor. "As soon as I get my bass, you and I are going to make magic together. Trust me on that. We're going to go straight to the top of the charts and blow those pansy pop acts out of the water." 

But he never was going to get that bass guitar. Not until summer at the soonest, you thought. 

You underestimated Murdoc Pot a great deal. He showed up with the bass guitar the very next day and told you he was still working it off but his boss let him bring it home for a while. You bought his story, even though you maybe shouldn't have. You sat on the floor with your keyboard as he tuned the bass guitar with expert fingers. He got such a serious expression on his face when he handled the bass like nothing in the world mattered more to him. 

"Let's get cracking, eh?" Murdoc said, strumming the bass, "Consider it a Christmas present to the world. Our first ever time playing together." 

You hadn't even realised that it was Christmas Eve. 

Neither of you celebrated Christmas. After years of suffering through your father's humiliating parties and dinners, you weren't in the mood to do anything for the holiday and Murdoc didn't seem up to do anything either. There was no Christmas dinner, there was just the remainders of the Chinese takeaway from the night before; there was no visitors, it was just the two of you; there was no emasculating or shaming in front of the entire town, there was just you and Murdoc sitting around in the front room. He hadn't put his bass down since he'd picked it up yesterday, playing the thing well into the night and the morning. 

You played Ghost Train for him and Murdoc actually liked it, though he said it was definitely more of a B-side. He only had to listen a few times before he figured out where the bass should go and he played along with you. Playing with somebody else wasn't like anything you'd ever experienced before. It was like being in harmony. You couldn't stop smiling.

"We're only a guitarist and a drummer away from being a band." Murdoc said, later that night when he was pulling his clumpy boots on in preparation for going out, "Lucky for us, we already know a guitar player, eh?" 

"Huh?" You blinked in confusion, "You mean Noodle?" 

"'Course I do. She must be bored as hell working at that old chippy all day, she'll be glad to have something else to do." He straightened up, "Are you coming?"

"Coming where?" You asked. 

"Out. Y'know. We'll go to a pub, find some nice girls..." He made a throaty noise that sounded sort of like a laugh, "A couple of pints. I'll let you tag along if you don't get in the way." 

"I don't know, Muds." You tended to avoid pubs when you could; they brought back unpleasant memories, "It's been a while since I had a night out." 

"Exactly." He said, "You can't just sit around here in your pants forever. We're going to be top notch musicians, you and me, and that means nights out. Smashing up hotel rooms. Getting completely wankered. You think Johnny Cash stayed at home on a Friday night?"

You reached for your coat. "No, uh, but-"

"It won't hurt to have a good time, 2D." Murdoc approached you and ran his greasy fingers through your hair a few times, attempting to style the blue peaks, "Bugger it. The messy look's very rock and roll anyway. Girls are gonna be all over you."

That would be the first time in a long time. "You think?" 

"Well, you're pretty, aren't you? Girls like a ponce." 

You pulled your squeaky old trainers on without a second thought and followed him out of the door. You'd never really put that much thought into how you looked; did people really think you looked girly? You shrugged it off. Murdoc walked like somebody that knew where they were going and you tried to imitate him. You were going to have a good time tonight and everything was going to be fine because it was Christmas and you were with Murdoc and you weren't at home with your family anymore. You grinned. Everything was going to be great.


	6. Band

You had never been very good at mornings.

Pulling yourself out of bed for work every day had always been a bit of a struggle but since you'd started living with 2D, (that nickname stuck better than his real name ever did), you'd gotten pretty good at it. You almost functioned like a normal person. Ugh. Honestly, you thought the only reason you had got so good at getting up early was because you had wanted to get out of the flat. You'd been avoiding 2D at first. Now that you didn't actually hate spending time with you, you'd been arriving to work later and later. 

Cracking open your eyes now, you glanced at the clock sitting on the bedside table. Or the makeshift box that you'd been using as a bedside table anyway. It wasn't there. The clock and the box had both vanished. Instead, there was a stack of worn old t-shirts, a cluster of those orange pill containers, and two empty bottles. Eh? You wiped the crust away from your eyes and frowned. The badly painted blue walls didn't belong to you either. 

"Muds?" A familiar voice, tired and slurred, caught your attention. 

You rolled over, the blankets shifting so that your leg ended up in the cold, and found yourself nose-to-nose with 2D. You weren't awake enough to be alarmed by this yet and after checking you still had your trousers on, you just let your eyes fall closed again. You were too tired and too hungover to deal with that idiot at this time of day. An arm stretched out and rested over you. Again, you were just too hungover to even be bothered by that yet. 

"Muds? What you doing here?" 2D's accent was even more puzzling when it was slurred, "We didn't get any girls last night, did we?"

"I think I got lucky with a broad in the toilets actually." You mumbled, shifting through the slimy memories of last night, "She was alright. I could have done worse." 

"Lucky." 2D yawned, "I don't think I've had a girl since I was about twenty five." 

"How old are you?"

"Thirty. Nearly thirty one. You?"

"'M twenty." 

You curled towards him, without even realising it, and opened your eyes a little. More slowly this time. You couldn't remember if you had work today or not but screw it, your head hurt too much and your throat was too dry to work today. You could call in sick or something. Wait, it was Boxing Day. The shop wouldn't be open anyway. You could sleep all day. 

2D looked about as bad as you felt with darker shadows than usual pressed under his eyes and one hand splayed across his face to shade his eyes from the light. His other arm was still limp against your side, his hand dangling by your back. His shirt was askew and so was his hair but he was definitely still clothed. The two of you definitely hadn't shagged last night. That was good. If you thought really hard, you could vaguely remember stumbling in half-drunk and crawling into 2D's bed without realising what you were doing. You fell asleep there. 

"You talk in your sleep." 2D commented, "I noticed last night. Did you have a bad dream or something?" 

"Don't remember." You answered, honestly, "I didn't know I did that. Did I say anything stupid that you're going to take the piss out of me for?" 

"Nah." He smiled like an idiot at you, "Actually, I thought it was kind of sweet." 

He was making fun of you- he was teasing you- but it still made your face feel hot. 

"Shut up." You smacked him with a pillow and he groaned. 

"Muds, I'm too hungover." He made a pathetic noise, "Are you getting up? Can you get me some water?"

You pulled the covers back over your head. "Get it yourself, you lazy arse." 

That was when the doorbell rang and the both of you groaned, knowing that one of you would have to go and get it. You pushed the covers back down and, (after losing a game of rock-paper-scissors), got up to get the door. You had no idea who it could be but they could deal with your shirtless torso if they were going to come knocking at this hour in the morning. You stumbled most of the way to the door, gripping your head in your hand, and struggled with the lock on the door. It took you a few tries to get the key in the lock. 

Finally, you unlocked the door and found yourself face-to-face with two people. You recognised Noodle first, the small Asian girl with a Les Paul strapped to her back, and the jacket she wore that definitely belonged to somebody much bigger than her at one point in time. She was holding a portable amplifier in her hands. Then, you squinted and recognised the man next to her as Russel. The one who you'd sold drumsticks to. You scratched your head, wondering what either of them were doing here; let alone what they were doing here together. 

"What d'you want?" You demanded, "I'm busy."

_Doing what? Snuggling up to your roommate in bed?_ A voice in the back of your head sneered at you. 

"Didn't you call me last night?" Russel asked, "I had a voicemail from somebody called 2D last night, who told me to come here. That wasn't you?" 

"I was called also." Noodle added, "You were drunk, yes? Looks like you used to be drunk." 

"The term you're looking for is hungover." You informed her, "It's an English word meaning that you got absolutely sloshed last night and that you're really feeling it today. So you'd appreciate being left the hell alone, thanks." You turned away and barked, "2D! There are a pair of idiots standing out here because your drunk arse called them last night." 

A clattering came from inside the apartment and some staggered footsteps before 2D appeared, gripping the doorway of his bedroom to keep himself up. He got about halfway to the door before he abruptly froze and stumbled blindly in the direction of the bathroom instead. He walked into the doorway before he managed to navigate inside and you heard the sound of him retching loudly. You rolled your eyes. Lightweight. 

"Look, why don't you come in for a minute? Stop letting the cold in." You ordered, ushering the two of them in and shutting the door behind them, "I'll go and make sure 2D doesn't fall face first into his own vomit." 

You closed the bathroom door behind you to give the two of you some privacy before turning to 2D. The sop was already on his knees in front of the toilet bowl, hugging it like it had just saved his life, and whimpering in between retches. You ran your fingers through his hair, scraping it away from his face and holding it back. You tried to remember what your mum would say to you when she looked after you when you were sick. When you used to come home drunk and she held you while you were sick, whispering reassuring words. 

"There you go." You coaxed, as 2D stopped at last, "It's alright, love. You're going to be okay now. That's the worst of it over." 

The older man spat to clean his mouth out and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. But he stayed cramped over the toilet for a while, making pathetic noises while you stroked his hair. It was pretty gay, you thought afterwards. Your fingers remained tangled in his hair for a few unnecessary moments before you withdrew them and wiped them on your trousers. 2D got to his feet, looking a little bit pastier but overall a lot better, and looked at you. It looked like there was something he wanted to say but he didn't know how to say it. 

He flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth. You watched him, feeling like you were overstaying your welcome, trying to drag the moment out longer than you needed to. Eventually, 2D seemed satisfied and put his toothbrush away again. You opened the door and slunk back over to where Noodle had sat herself on the sofa with her hands neat in her lap and where Russel stood awkwardly like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. You picked up El Diablo and moved it out of the way of their unworthy hands. 

"'Ello, Noodle. Russ." 2D looked as surprised as you were, as he stopped in his tracks to look at the pair of them, "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently, when we were blackout drunk last night, somebody decided to call them and tell them that they should come here." You said. 

"Who was that, then?" 2D frowned.

"You are such an idiot." You collapsed onto the sofa, defeated; when he still looked confused, you pointed at him, "You! It was you, 2D! You called them. Satan's sake, did you knock your brain out in the crash or what?" 

The singer didn't look that hurt by your comment; he almost never did. 

Russel cleared his throat. "You're 2D? Have we met before somewhere? Sorry, I have-"

"Memory loss." You and 2D finished for him, like you were both starring in some bloody hilarious pantomime, "We know." 

You knew about 2D's afternoons spent in the record shop with Russel, you'd just never put together that he was talking about the same Russel you'd sold some drumsticks to. It was weird how small the world could be sometimes. 

Noodle took her turn to speak. "You said something about band, Mr Niccals. On the phone, you said about band. You wanted a guitarist? I am guitarist." She stood up, unhooked her guitar from her back and plugged it into a portable amp, holding the guitar ready, "I show you." 

Before any of you could say anything, Noodle began to play. She played possibly one of the greatest guitar riffs you had ever heard in your entire life, one that shook you right to the core and left you standing there in pure shock. Noodle played the guitar like it was nothing and everything all at once, her small fingers racing up and down to play chords quicker than you would have thought she'd be able to. It really was incredible to see such a small girl kill it on a guitar. You guess you shouldn't judge by appearances. When she finished, she bowed her head politely before unplugging the amp and strapping the guitar to her back again. 

2D was the first one to start applauding, looking entirely dumbstruck. 

"That was brilliant, that was!" You told the small girl, who just nodded; you looked at 2D, "Wasn't I just saying yesterday how she'd made a great guitarist for the band?"

2D scratched his neck. "You keep saying the band like we're a band." 

"Well, we are now." You said, excited, "Noodle can play guitar for us. Sorted." 

The girl gave you a double thumbs up before sitting back down on the sofa. 

Russel spoke again. "I'm sure if you guys say we've met before, we probably have. On the voicemail, one of you mentioned something about a band. That was actually why I came today. If you need somebody else- a drummer- for your band, I'm sure I could help you out. I used to be in a band back in the US." 

"That would be excellent, Russ!" 2D beamed at him, (not just a small smile but a full-blown beam of excitement on his face), "Actually, you're the one that convinced me to start recording my own songs in the first place. You listen to my only demo every day when I remind you to. You always say that you really like it." 

"It's settled then." You announced, "We're a band. Now, I need a Bloody Mary." 

"I don't think we have any tomato juice. Or Worcester sauce. Or pepper." 2D thought about it for a moment, "I'm not sure we have any Tabasco either." 

"I'll do without." You got to your feet and headed towards the small kitchen area that mostly consisted of a sink, an oven, a fridge, and a couple of cabinets. 

"Murdoc, that's just going to be vodka with lemon and some celery in it." 

You shrugged. "I'm not having any of that healthy crap. I'll just have straight vodka." 

And that was the beginning of your band. You didn't know at the time that being the bassist and leader of a band would take up most of your time in January too. By the time the end of the month rolled around, you would quit your job because it was taking up too much time. But you didn't know that. All you knew right then was that you were in a band and a band needed a name, a style, a look. You called a meeting the next week, when you were a bit more sober, and the four of you crowded around a table at the local Weatherspoons. 

"Which one are you again?" Russel had to ask each and every one of you, when you sat down at the table, "Are you Murdoc, 2D, or Noodle?" 

Russel's memory loss could be annoying at times. He said he couldn't remember when he'd started getting it but shortly afterwards, he got it into his head that he had to leave the US and come here instead. He carried a small notebook in his back pocket to keep notes about things he absolutely had to remember. While you were waiting for your order to arrive, Noodle helpfully drew a picture of each of you in the notebook with labels. She titled the page ["THE BAND"](http://h3y-d4v3-1s-th1s-you.tumblr.com/post/157290429147) and folded the corner of the page before closing the notebook again. 

"Now, you no need to ask." She pushed the notebook back towards him. 

The drummer nodded. "Thank you, Noodle." 

Then, your food arrived and all conversation was put on hold. You wolfed down your breakfast, (normally you didn't do breakfast but even you've got to make an exception for a Traditional English Breakfast from spoons), and ignored the look Russel gave you for drinking this early in the morning. To piss him off even more, you let Noodle take a sip from your glass when she asked. Russel scowled at you. 2D seemed oblivious to the rest of you. 

Something had been up with 2D lately, something had been bugging at him. You weren't sure what it was yet but you noticed that he pushed his veggie sausage around his plate without taking much interest in it. He excused himself half way through the meal, disappeared for about ten minutes, and came back smelling like nicotine. Noodle tugged on his arm and asked if he was okay because he looked sad but 2D just smiled at her. 

"I'm fine, love." He went back to poking miserably at his food, "Just got something on my mind, that's all." 

Noodle nodded and cut into the third pancake in her stack. "Me also. Something on my mind as well, I mean." She let out a terrifying cackle of laughter, "More like somebody on my mind, I suppose. I will tell later. Not here." 

"Right." For once, you felt just as confused as 2D, "Anyway, I called us here because we have important things to discuss. What's our sound going to be? What's our band going to be called?" 

2D stabbed a piece of toast with a fork. "Why do we have to have a "sound"? If you're proper good at music, you can play a bunch of different types of music." He pointed at Noodle with his fork, "What kind of music do you like?" 

"Rock and-"

"Of course, she likes rock and roll. Every kid her age does." You said. 

"Rebellious, innit?" 2D agreed. 

"I'm partial to hip hop and rap. That's what I was raised on." Russel added, "It looks like we could cover a few genres between the four of us."

The toast fell off 2D's fork. "I don't think we should do any metal, Muds." 

"Ugh." You groaned, "Fine. That's alright as long as we don't do any of that boy band pop rubbish. We can be some sort of... Anti-pop. A middle finger to the pop industry. Can we all just agree on that?"

There were a few mumbles of agreement and Noodle's head bobbed happily. 

"We don't have a name yet." You pointed out. 

Russel patted you on the back. "We'll figure that out later, kid." 

You growled at him. You weren't a kid, no matter what he seemed to think. Russel was a decent drummer, he knew a hell of a lot about hip hop and rap music, but he seemed to think that having ten years on you made him your dad or something. It was fine for him to treat Noodle like a little kid because she was only thirteen but when he acted like you were so much younger than him, it pissed you off. 2D acted like the two of you weren't any different. It was one of the things that you actually liked about him. 

After breakfast, the four of you trekked back to the flat. It was raining outside as per usual in England and you regretted not bringing a coat with you. You thought you'd be fine in just one of your jumpers but apparently not. Your hair was stuck flat to your forehead in a matter of seconds, soaking wet, and you folded your arms miserably. 

"2-Chee, can you carry me?" You heard Noodle ask up ahead and she clambered onto the singer's back, wrapping her arms and legs around her tightly, "Thank you."

"Yo, Muds." Russel had fallen into step with you, "Mind if I ask you some questions?"

"You aren't going to remember the answers." Your boots splashed through one of the puddles gathering at the edge of the road and water soaked into your socks. 

"There's no harm in answering then." Russel seemed like he was going to take no for an answer, "What's the deal with you and D anyway? Are you two dating?"

"He's my flatmate. My parents kicked me out and he took me in. Why don't you write that in your bloody notebook so you don't have to ask me again?" 

"Your parents kicked you out? That's harsh." Russel grabbed you by the arm and pulled you out of the road, so that you didn't get mowed down by a passing car. It narrowly avoided you, splashing your ankles with muddy water and dragging your mood down even more. 

"They said if I didn't live with 2D, they'd expect me to find somewhere on my own." You yanked your arm free of his grip, "It's not like I wanted to live with them." 

Russel nodded. "And... What's up with D? How come he was living here on his own?" 

"I don't know. He doesn't really talk about it." You said, glancing at where the singer was pretending like he was going to drop Noodle in a puddle, making her shriek loudly in delight, "I don't think he had a good home." 

It was only the early weeks of January so the flat was cold from the lack of decent heating. Stepping inside didn't make you feel any warmer than you did when you were standing outside but at least you got to unlock the door, since 2D had given you his spare keys as a late Christmas present. Plus, a little keyring that was shaped like an M. For Murdoc, you thought, but he clarified that it stood for My Flatmate. You rolled your eyes at that. Anyway, you stepped inside and 2D opened the curtains to let the dreary winter light flood the room. 

You kicked your shoes off and shed your jumper and shirt like a snake sheds it's skin. It was too cold to wander around half-naked like you normally did unfortunately so you had to get a shirt from the laundry. Neither of you actually did the laundry so it was really just there to keep clothes stacked in for later. You had already pulled a shirt on before you realised that it was one of 2D's stupid zombie shirts and you didn't think he'd care if you wore it. It fit you loosely, falling over the top of your jeans, and it was more comfortable than anything you owned. 

2D squinted at you when you came back and picked up your bass. He either didn't figure out that the shirt was his or he just didn't want to say anything about it. 

"Alright, 2D, let's get a look at the song you were working on." You held out your hand and he pushed a piece of paper into it, "What's this rubbish? Clint Eastwood?"

"Movie star." Noodle identified and she grinned, "Dirty Harry." 

"That took me a long time, Muds." He protested, snatching it back, "I thought it was quite good. Russel said it was too, not that he'll remember." 

"You ask yourself: am I lucky?" Noodle pointed two of the fingers on her left hand to imitate a gun and poked 2D in the throat, "Well, do ya, punk?" 

2D laughed and poked her in the ribs. She squealed and laughed so hard that she fell backwards off the sofa, leaping to her feet quickly. They messed around for a while, so you snatched the song back and sat down to try and work out what the song would sound like. 2D had only written the words with no actual music to it. Russel peered over your shoulder. 

You plugged the bass in and played a few chords, frowning. They didn't sound right. 

"D." Russel caught the man by the arm, stopping him from chasing Noodle around the flat, "Hold still for a second and tell us what this song sounded like in your head. Because right now, we're just looking at words on paper and have no idea what the tune is meant to be. Why don't you go and get your keyboard? Try and play it to us." 

Nodding, 2D stopped and did what he was told. He retrieved his battered old keyboard- you had offered to nick him a new one but he flat out refused to let go of the sentimental piece of crap- and sat down on the floor with it in front of him. 

"I was thinking of something like this?" 2D's fingers scaled the keyboard easily and he began to sing quietly to himself more than anybody else. 

All of them froze where they were. It was the first time Noodle had heard him sing and Russel couldn't remember any of the other times, obviously, so it must have felt like his first time. Noodle looked awed, bopping her head in time. Silently, Russel listened with an unreadable look on his face. He moved to his drumset, (how the four of them had managed to lug it up the stairs earlier was another story entirely), and managed to finally find the beat he'd been looking for. He drummed steadily, his face fixed in concentration. Noodle began to dance around the flat. 

2D got to the end of the chorus and started it again, having no other lyrics written down yet. His voice was as haunting as ever and you realised you'd been staring at the singer again, lost in his pretty voice. Hastily, you picked up your bass. Noodle rushed to plug her guitar in. And the four of you eventually fell into rhythm, repeating the same chorus. 

"It's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on..." 2D's voice eventually just trailed off into nothing and you put your bass down. 

Nobody said anything for a while after that. 

Noodle kept at it with her guitar, retreating to a corner of the flat and playing quietly. 2D flopped backwards and laid on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and looking as relaxed as most people look when they're stoned. Russel sat at his drums, quietly, and wrote in his notebook so that he'd remember. You didn't know what to do with yourself. 

2D spoke eventually. "That felt really good. Like, in my soul or something." 

He put a hand over his chest like that was where his soul was. 

"That's what good music does." Russel said and you nodded. 

That night, you ended up in bed with 2D again but both of you were sober and it wasn't just because you were too lazy to drag yourself to your own bed. Noodle and Russel ended up staying so late that both of them stayed the night. After carefully stripping the sheets from your bed and replacing them with clean ones, you tucked Noodle into your bed. She sleepily told you how much she liked your record collection before she conked out. Russel opted to sleep on the sofa in the front room- though, he called it the couch- and you could hear him snoring. 

You climbed into 2D's bed fully clothed right down to your socks and pulled the covers over to your side before he could snatch them. He snickered and rolled into bed on the other side, just in his pants and a t-shirt. He glanced at you sideways. It occurred to you then that this was the start of an entirely new year, the start of a new decade. 2000. Things were going to change this year and they were definitely going to be for the better. 2D propped himself up on one elbow. 

"What are you grinning at?" You demanded. 

He shrugged. "We're in a band, Muds. We started a band." 

"Yeah, so? I've started tons of bands." You fibbed. 

"It's just something I never thought I'd do, you know? I always wanted to but I didn't think I'd be able to. Not with dad around." He rolled to lie on his back instead, "Things are changing so fast. Sometimes, it feels like everything's going too fast. But I think I like it." 

"Your dad didn't like music, did he?" You got a sick feeling in your stomach. 

2D paused. "Turn the light off, Muds. I can't reach from here." 

"Alright." You did what he wanted and both of you laid there in the dark for a while, "You like being in a band then?"

"It's well cool." You could picture the grin on his face.

You seconded. "It's brilliant." 

"Yeah." He paused again, "G'night, Murdoc."

"Night, 2D."


	7. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello. enjoy the new chapter!!
> 
> hit me up on tumblr or whatever i'm noodlerdoodler there too

Noodle had set up semi-permanent residence in your living room, pushing a futon into the corner and leaving her old backpack of belongings there when she went out to work. For a thirteen year old girl, she sure seemed to be working a lot of hours at that chip shop. But if the wad of cash she kept wedged under her futon was anything to go by, she was being paid at least. Even the teenager had a more steady income than you did, you thought with a smile. 

She didn't cause you any trouble but Russel worried about her. 

"What are her parents going to think if they find out that she's been staying here every night?" He asked, one day, "I don't think she's contacted them even once since we started the band a few weeks ago." 

Murdoc sneered, rather unkindly. "How would you know? Your brain is like a sieve." 

"That's not nice, Muds." You scratched your head, thoughtfully, and glanced at Noodle. She was sitting on her futon with her legs crossed, tuning her guitar with an expression of pure concentration on her face. Now that Russ had put the thought in your head, you couldn't help but think that maybe a teenager staying in your flat wasn't a good idea. 

Still... There had to be a reason that she was so set on hanging around, didn't there? You thought about what it had been like living with your dad and brother for so long and your mind wandered, hoping Noodle's parents weren't anything like yours. If anybody was hurting her, you'd have to do something about it. You'd always wished somebody would help you. Maybe you could be that somebody to Noodle. 

"If her parents don't know where she is, you could be possibly charged with abduction." Russel was still talking, you realised, "Maybe even kidnapping. Either way, it won't sound good in court that you guys had an underage girl staying in your apartment without anybody else knowing about it. You could be jailed for that, easily." 

"It does sound dodgy when you put it like that." Murdoc agreed, "We're just going to have to find out who the parents are and give them a ring, see if they know she's with us." 

They kept talking but you had stopped listening, approaching where Noodle was sitting on her futon. You sat down beside her without a word and watched her tuning her Les Paul, as she purposely tried not to look at you. She'd set up quite the little home for herself in your living room, you noticed. There were some Japanese dolls lined up against the wall like soldiers and stacks of clothes and pots of pencils and some postcards with old rock n' roll stars painted on them by a delicate hand pinned up. There was one photograph stuck proudly in the middle. 

You peered at it, curious. It was definitely not a recent picture because the Noodle in it had her hair cut shorter and her fringe didn't cover up her eyes, tucked behind her ears instead. She was in the middle of the photo, beaming proudly, and an older boy had one arm slung around her. They didn't look anything alike but neither did the middle-aged couple standing behind them. Were they her mum and dad? You squinted. They looked friendly. 

Noodle finally lifted her head to look at you. "You going to make me leave?" 

"You can't just stay here, love." You ruffled her hair, "Your mum and dad wouldn't be happy if you started living with a random pair of blokes. Bet they're missing you back at home, yeah?" 

Her face fell instantly, her head dipping again and her hair falling back in front of her face. Her body language changed, sloping downwards like a deflated balloon. You realised that you must have said something wrong. She looked something worse than sad. 

"Mum and dad?" Noodle shook her head, "They gone." 

"Where did your parents go?" You ask, a sick feeling rising in your throat. 

"We sat in car. They in front, me and Del in back." She poked at the boy in the photo to emphasise that he was Del, "Somebody drive by. Bang, bang!" She made a gun with her fingers and mimicked a shooting, narrowing her eyes, "Just like that. I live because it hit shoulder, not heart. Nothing vital. Everybody else gone now. Just me left. I live here now." 

Something about how simply she said it shook you to the core. No child, especially one of Noodle's age, should have been exposed to something like that. She shouldn't have been in the car, she shouldn't have lost her parents, and she shouldn't have seen it happen. You can't even imagine seeing somebody shot dead right in front of you. You stood up and saw your other band mates were still in conversation, though it seemed like they were arguing now. You walked over to them, your heart numb in your chest, and gripped Murdoc's arm to steady yourself. 

He scowled at you. "What are you clinging for?" 

"Noodle's staying here." You said, impressed that your voice only shook once. 

Russel frowned at you. "No, D, we agreed-"

"She's staying here." You repeated, glancing at where the guitarist was pretending not to listen to you, "Or she can most nights, at least. Maybe she could stay with Russ sometimes too. We could organise something like that. She needs us." 

"What about her parents-"

You just shook your head at them and you must have looked upset because Murdoc shut his mouth and Russel didn't try to argue with you. You picked up your pack of cigarettes on your way to the door and headed outside to light one up, feeling light-headed. You watched the smoke fade against the grey sky and tried to forget Noodle's words. You thought your childhood had been shitty... But at least your dad never died. You used to wish that he did. But then you wouldn't see him for a few days and cry and cry and cry until he came back. 

He always hated it when you cried, you thought with a bitter smile. And then, you put your cigarette out and went back inside to wear out your nicotine-soaked vocal cords. 

Having other people around the flat was weird at first. You'd only just got used to it just being you and Murdoc. Now, it was suddenly Noodle sitting at your dinner table and sleeping on her futon and watching TV on your sofa. Murdoc complained that she got in the way but whenever she stayed the weekends at Russel's, he was the first one to welcome her back. The both of you had soft spots for Noodle; she made Murdoc's protective side kick in, you thought. 

Russel started spending most of his time at the flat too, whenever he wasn't working. That was probably a good thing, even if it didn't feel like it at first. He did the things that the rest of you would forget to do like cook meals and make you leave the flat a couple of times a week. 

"You're wasting away on that couch and killing your brain with daytime television, D." He'd tell you, "Some fresh air will do you good. Noodle's been eyeing a record down in the store for a few weeks now, why don't you take her to buy it?" 

He'd hand you some money and make you wear your coat and push you and Noodle out of the door so that he could get on with tea. It was what you imagined having a mum would be like. 

Murdoc wasn't used to having other people around, (or having people actually care about, like, his wellbeing), and it made him pissy for the first few weeks. He always groaned when he ventured out from his bedroom at about midday and saw Noodle or Russel were there too. He also complained frequently about you playing keyboard when he was trying to sleep but that was just Murdoc complaining for the sake of it. Eventually, he just had to get used to the idea that there were nearly always other people in the apartment. Things settled down. 

"Family." Noodle announced, when Russel dropped her off at the flat one morning, and she was holding a folded piece of paper in her hands. 

Murdoc had only just woken up but he offered her an half smile-half grimace. "What, love?" 

Wordlessly, Noodle unfolded the piece of paper and held it up for the two of you to see. She'd drawn on it in felt tip or something because her fingers had smudged the lines a little but it was easily to tell what the drawing was. You, Muds, Russ, and Noodle. It wasn't a bad drawing either, she'd clearly spent a lot of time on it. You laughed at the thick eyebrows she'd drawn on Murdoc, making him look cross. She'd written a caption in neat Japanese, which you obviously couldn't read, but printed "MY NEW FAMILY" in English at the top. She beamed at you. 

Needless to say, that picture was stuck on the fridge for years after that. 

It felt like she was right. The four of you were a family. 

And then, suddenly, there was another addition to the group. You only met him sometime in January, during a rehearsal, and he honestly scared you half to death. Nobody was expecting that when Noodle said she had somebody in her mind... She wasn't joking. There were a handful of ghosts that had taken up residence in her head, including a rapping ghost called Del. The ghost of her brother, who you'd seen in her photo, that looked nothing like her. 

Noodle had been playing her guitar as usual, nodding her head, when her eyes glazed over. You think her eyes might have rolled up into her head but it was hard to tell because her eyes were pure white anyway. They definitely started glowing a little brighter. You stopped singing, distracted. Then, with no warning, a blue spirit erupted from her head. Noodle kept playing the whole time, strumming her guitar, which somehow made it creepier. 

"What the-?!" You tripped over your keyboard in your haste to get to your feet and ended up sprawled on the floor with bruises on your elbows. 

Murdoc dropped his bass in surprise but caught it before it hit the ground. "A ghost. There's an honest-to-Satan ghost in our living room." He rubbed his bleary eyes, "I've got to stop drinking in the mornings." 

"Why'd you guys stop playin'?" The ghost said, as if nothing out of the usual was happening here, "I've been workin' on lyrics for weeks, don't you wanna hear them?" He looked around at three of you and laughed, "You guys ain't never seen a ghost before, have you?" 

"Noodle's unconscious. I don't think she can hear us." Russel confirmed, at the girl's side and trying to pry the guitar from her fingers, "Should we call an ambulance?" 

You had been too busy frowning at Del, trying to work out why he looked so familiar, but you looked back to Noodle. She kept playing in a hypnotic state, no matter how hard Russel tried to pull the guitar away from her. She seemed to have an iron grip on it. 

"Nah, she'll be alright." Del assured him, "I can only be visible if she's sleepin', so I just told her to take a little break while I spat some sick rhymes. Didn't think you guys would flip your lids." He paused, thinking, "Guess Noodle never mentioned me, huh?" 

"She never said that she was flipping possessed." Murdoc had to sit down on the sofa. 

You took in his panicked expression. "I'll make us a cup of tea, yeah?" 

That was what everybody seemed to do on TV shows when people were shocked. 

It turned out that Del was her brother, ("step-brother, I guess"), who had been killed in the same driveby shooting as Noodle's parents and had lived inside his younger sister's head ever since. You knew you recognised him from somewhere and plucked the photo from Noodle's corner of the room to show the others. Del was a decent rapper as well, he proved that same afternoon, but he could only appear if Noodle was asleep or unconscious. Throughout the conversation, Noodle had been playing on repeat like a broken record. 

After he disappeared from sight, Noodle had jerked awake abruptly and played the last few chords on her guitar. Then, she fell onto her knees with a thump. Her legs had turned to jelly from standing there so long- nobody had wanted to move her. She didn't seem phased by what had happened but she was excited that you'd finally met Del. 

"I did not know how to introduce you." She explained, "I can not make him appear. He does when he wants to." She grinned, "I bet he like 2-Chee and Murdoc and Russel a lot." 

So, Del had started popping up now and then. And though you didn't see Del a lot, it still added a new presence to the flat. It was like having another person there but not just being able to see or communicate with them. Apparently, he could sometimes hear or see through Noodle's eyes, so you just looked her in the eye whenever you wanted to speak to him and hoped the message got through. You mostly spoke with him at night when your headaches were keeping you up and he was sitting beside Noodle's futon like a guard. Del was interesting. 

He told you a lot about what it was like to grow up in the US with his dad before moving to Japan to live with Noodle and her mom. It was obvious that he cared deeply about Noodle, even if they weren't siblings by blood. Del tried to give you a few rapping lessons the first few nights but gave up when he realised that you were a hopeless case. You liked him a lot. 

By the end of the first month, Russel and Noodle were spending so much time at the flat that they truly were more like a family to you than anything else. Like a family you'd never really had. They filled the bleeding hole that your dad and Hannibal had left in your chest. 

You didn't have the same bond with Russel or Noodle that you had with Murdoc though. 

"It's like they're my family but you're more like..." You tried to explain it to him one day but couldn't find the words. 

Murdoc was drinking from the bottle again. "We're best mates, aren't we?" 

"Yeah, we're best mates." You agreed. 

You were glad that he had words for it because yours were scrambled and you never seemed to be able to fit the right ones together. You'd never had a best mate before. Whether it was normal to think about kissing your best mate when you were drunk or to have a warm feeling curl in your stomach when your best mate hugged you, you didn't know. You never mentioned it because you know the idea of kissing a bloke made Murdoc cross. And he was cross enough. 

When you had a few songs finally coming together, Murdoc started pushing for the four of you to work harder than you already were. He'd been drinking a lot more because you let him keep all kinds of stuff in the fridge and sleeping a lot less because you heard him stomping around his room at night. One day, he yelled that there was no being casual when it came to this kind of business and kicked your Scrabble game so that the pieces went flying everywhere and went to look for venues with a grumble. It was just as well- you were losing anyway. 

But Murdoc did actually manage to score your first gig at the start of February in a club that liked amateur music acts to perform instead of hiring expensive bands. You wouldn't get paid a lot but something was more than nothing, wasn't it? It was about ten quid for each of you. 

"Is it alright if we bring a minor with us? She's not gonna be drinking." Murdoc asked on the phone, when he was arranging everything; he glanced at Noodle, "How old are you, love?" 

"I am thirteen." Noodle reminded him, putting the Scrabble pieces away. 

"She's thirteen. I'm telling you, she's not gonna be drinking anything and I'll keep an eye on her. She's our guitarist." Murdoc sighed, "Listen, we aren't coming without our girl. She's a little star, the crowd will absolutely love her. Is she my daughter? What, you think I had a kid when I was seven fucking years old?" Then, he fibbed, "She's our singer's daughter." 

"You what?" You gawped at him, "Murdoc, you can't say that."

"That's alright, then. We'll be in touch." Murdoc covered your mouth to silence your protests, getting you in a headlock to keep you quiet; once he hung the phone up, he released you from his grip, "It's just a little white lie, 2D. Nobody's actually going to check. Besides, we're going to need a way to get Noodle into gigs and it looks a bit dodgy if we're hanging out with a kid." 

You stared. "So, we're just going to tell people I'm her dad?" 

"It makes sense, you old man." Murdoc pulled a face at you. 

You hated it when he called you old. 

The actual gig was only a few days after that and the four of you had to get a bus into the centre of the city. It was surreal to think that you were going to play your first ever gig in a club and you had to pinch yourself to make sure that you were awake. Noodle was excited as heck, chatting away about her first time performing on a stage in front of a crowd of people, and Murdoc was quietly satisfied, pleased with himself. Russel was confident that it was going to go well but seemed worried about what would happen if it didn't. He muttered something about one of his bands back in the US being booed off stage but Murdoc just scoffed. 

You got off the bus after about half an hour and had to walk the rest of the way on foot. The city was beautiful at night, you thought, in a grimy sort of way. It was striking in the same way that Murdoc was striking- not traditionally pretty and kind of dirty but still attractive as all hell. You kept that thought locked away to yourself. As you walked, you stuck your hands into your pockets to keep them warm and hoped nothing would go wrong. 

"This is daft. I'm freezing." You said, as you walked, "We should have got a taxi." 

Murdoc nudged you in the ribs, he was that close. "You're such a whiner." 

"I am excited." Noodle skipped, her guitar bouncing against her back. 

"Don't run off." Russel told her, "It's dangerous in the city at night. This is a bad area, too." 

She took you by the hand. "2-Chee protect me." 

"He couldn't protect a bloody fly." Murdoc snorted. 

The club was up ahead and you squeezed Noodle's hand tightly, falling back behind Murdoc so that he could lead the way. As the four of walked, people looked at you as you passed. You hoped that nobody was thinking bad things. You supposed the four of you made a weird group. 

You walked past the line that was already forming to get into the club, (a good sign), and Murdoc told the guy at the door that the four of you were the Gorillaz. That was the band name you'd settled on in the end. Murdoc had chosen it when he was completely wankered and you liked it well enough and Russel had replaced the "s" with a "z" to make it more recognisable. Noodle said it reminded her of The Monkeys and she was okay with that. The four of you headed into the club, which was busy inside, and began setting up your instruments on stage. You reminded yourself to take deep breaths and swallowed some of your pills. 

The flashing neon lights made your head hurt and you wished you'd brought sunglasses. Tonight would be the worst night to induce a migraine. You plugged your keyboard in and played a few notes to test it out, surprised by how loud the sound came out on the speakers. You fiddled with it a bit to give yourself something to do but mainly tried to keep your panic at bay. You'd never done anything like this before. To your surprise, a hand came to rest on your lower back and you looked down to see Murdoc standing there, steadying you. 

"Alright, Stu?" His hand was warm against your lower back, "You look about ready to pass out." 

"Overwhelmed, I think." You glanced over him; he looked like he was born for this with his haircut and his dirty rock 'n roll look and his bass held effortlessly in his grip, "You look amazing." 

Oh, crap. That came out sounding a bit gay. 

"Pills got to your brain already?" Murdoc laughed, removing his hand abruptly, "You're a laugh, sometimes, 2D. Don't worry about the show. We already know we're not shite. We're brilliant. And if anybody laughs at you, I'll sock them one." 

"Thanks, Murdoc." You managed. 

You watched the club fill up and waited for the signal from Murdoc that you should start. You didn't know if you should say something but you thought about a few different things you could say before you played. An introduction, you thought, would be a good idea. Some way to get the band name to stick in people's heads. So that they could remember you. But when Murdoc gave you the signal, you were still thinking about how to say it. So, you fumbled it a bit. 

"Uh, 'ello, I'm 2D." You cleared your throat, "We're Gorillaz and this is 5/4." 

Overall, you'd say that the gig went okay. It wasn't amazing, flawless, or effortless. It was difficult and you had to think hard about what you were doing, even when lights were flashing and people were clapping, which gave you a headache. You knew that you should probably be performing more, like the singers you were used to watching on stage, but you didn't know how. So, you just stood there and sung and that seemed to be almost enough. Every now and again, you shifted to stand a bit more comfortably. It was okay, though, because Murdoc really played up his "sexy bassist" act and Noodle seemed to charm the crowd like he said she would. 

Every now and again, you'd make eye contact with Russel and he'd nod to say that you were doing just fine. That made you feel more confident and you leaned the mic towards you, really singing into it. At some point, Noodle and Murdoc switched places on the stage and she came to stand real close to you so she could share your microphone. She rocked harder than you did, you thought with amusement, as she banged her head and riffed on her guitar. She nodded to you like a professional before switching back into her original place. 

Highest point of the night was definitely the end because you saved the best for last. Clint Eastwood was your pièce de résistance and Del made his appearance exactly when he was supposed to, which drove the crowd crazy. Noodle kept playing, looking dazed, as the ghost rose from her and started rapping. It was even better than when you'd all practiced at home and you hit every single note right. The ending was long and took a while to play out but when you finally finished, the end of your set, the crowd really seemed to like you. 

Del disappeared and Noodle lifted her head, just in time for you to sign the band off. 

"Thank you." You said, well polite, into the mic at the end, "We've been Gorillaz. Um, that's Murdoc on bass, Russel on percussion, and Noodle on lead guitar, featuring Del Tha Ghost Rapper." You hoped you said it right, "You've all been lovely. Good night." 

You packed up your keyboard and hurried offstage so that the next band could take their turn. Acts were lined up all night from what you could tell and Murdoc said you might as well check out what pathetic wastes of space had to follow you on stage. The four of you found seats at one of those high tables with the stools and Murdoc went to order drinks. You sat and waited for him to come back, listening to Noodle fiddle with a melodica. She'd found out that you knew how to play one and had got hold of one, insisting you had to teach her. Russel tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention. 

"I think Murdoc has a thing for you." He spoke over the loud music.

His words surprised you because he said it so suddenly and so matter-of-factly. As if it was something that he was almost certain about. But you shook it off, knowing that he wasn't right. Murdoc was hardly as straight as a ruler- he definitely had some repressed stuff going on- but he didn't like you. If he liked you, he wouldn't complain about living with you all the time. If he liked you, then he wouldn't call you stupid. If he liked you, he would say so. And that was that. 

"Nah." You laughed, "Murdoc's just a mate. He's probably fancying some girl over at the bar right now." 

Your eyes scanned the crowd of people, your height giving you a vantage point, and you spotted a familiar mop of dark hair. He seemed to be flirting with the bar tender or maybe she was flirting with him. It was hard to tell from here. But they were definitely leaning in too close when they talked for him to just be ordering drinks. Your stomach did a backflip but you put that down to residual anxiety from being in a club like this. 

"He's had his hands all over you all night." Russel pointed out, (and he wasn't wrong), "From where I was standing, you two looked like a couple. He even grabbed your ass on stage." 

Vaguely, you could remember that happening in the midst of one your songs and the crowd erupting into laughter at Murdoc's raunchy antics. You had looked at him, meeting his eyes briefly and seeing that he looked smug, before focusing on playing your keyboard. It wasn't the first time that you'd had your bum grabbed but it was the time Murdoc had done it. It didn't bother you as much as you thought it would. 

You shrugged. "He was just having a laugh. He's just a kid, Russ." 

"Noodle's a kid." Russel said and the Japanese girl lifted her head, curiously, "Murdoc's twenty and the two of you live together. It wouldn't be that surprising if he'd developed a bit of a crush on you." 

You'd never really thought about it before. Before you could, the bassist reappeared. 

"Drink up, eh?" Murdoc returned with four glasses in his hands, "This is for you, Russ. Asked for the missus at the bar for something American. You can blame your country if it's crap." He pushed a dainty glass of something azure blue in your direction, "Yours came complimentary of some guy at the bar, Dense. He said your voice was lovely. Told you so, didn't I?" 

You surveyed the bar and made eye contact with a guy, who grinned at you. He raised a drink, to you, and you held up your drink, mouthing a "thanks". Noodle giggled at you. 

"And a coke for the lady." Murdoc handed a drink to Noodle and added in a lower tone, "Don't tell your big brother but I asked the bartender to slip just a little bit of rum in, since it's your first night out on the town. I was drinking at your age and it never did me any harm." 

Noodle mimicked drawing a zipper across her lips and took a sip.


	8. Overdose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drug addiction, drug overdose.

As time passed, the four (or five, four and a half?, counting Del) of you became quite well known as a local band at least. Gorillaz. It just had a way of sticking in people’s minds, it seemed, and it wasn’t long before you were playing a handful of times a month. Just locally. You had enough to pay rent, at least, and that was all you needed. Not to mention, you were getting off with a handful of girls a week. There was something sexy and alluring about a bass player when it came to women- maybe the promise of what your fingers were capable of.

You were relaying this to 2-D late one night, as you were both lazing around in the front room. He was hanging off the sofa with his long limbs splayed out, stoned out of his mind. He chewed painkillers like they were sweets, popping into his mouth one after another, while you glugged from a bottle without a label. 

“So, anyway, I take this bird backstage-” You were telling him. 

“Muds-” He cut you off, his voice drowsy, “We’re mates, right?”

You were thrown by the question. “Right. Mates. Why do you ask?” 

“I dunno.” 2-D said, predictably, “Russ said-” He pauses, “It doesn’t matter. I told him you were just being a nob.”

You frowned at that. The two of them talk about you behind your back? You wouldn’t be surprised if Russ was slagging you off behind your back because he didn’t really like you but you didn’t think 2-D would shit on you with him. Mates. Wasn’t that what he said? And mates didn’t talk smack about each other. Suddenly, you felt like you were back in school where everybody whispered about you behind your back. Murdoc, who didn’t have parents and lived in the care home. Murdoc, who nobody wanted. Murdoc, who smelt like shit and couldn’t afford new clothes. Murdoc, Murdoc, Murdoc. Hated by everybody. Even himself.

You had learned to self-loathe before you had learned to read. 

“Muds? Where did you go?” 2-D is peering at him from the sofa, curiously.

“I’m right here.” You told him, pausing before asking, “Was school shit for you too?” 

2-D bobbed his head in agreement but didn’t speak. His eyes were glassy like they were when he remembered something he’d rather forget. That happened a lot when he was stoned. Still, 2-D had never really spoken about where he came from and he didn’t have to… But you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He stares up at the ceiling, his hands fidgeting on top of his stomach. 

“Childhood fucks you up, innit?” 2-D said, finally.

“Yeah.” You stared at the bottle in your hands, “Is that why you take those?”

You gestured to the empty pill bottle that stood upright like a gravestone next to the sofa.

2-D frowned and mumbled something incoherent.

He must be so high, you realised. 2-D was usually content to take a few more prescription pills than he needed, just to get him through the day, but sometimes he would really go all out. (He liked getting high, he told you that and you thought you understood). Then, he would like on his back on the sofa and smoke or lying on his stomach on the floor and fiddle with his broken keyboard. Or he would sit and watch TV, while you entertained Noodle with some boardgames you’d nicked. Staring at him now, it occurs to you for the first time that 2-D doesn’t just like getting high. He’s a drug addict. A stoner. He’s reliant on painkillers and suddenly, this seems more concerning than funny. Your mum’s a nurse, you know how shite life can be for drug addicts. 

“You’re a druggie.” You muttered, “Just some fucking druggie. A stoner with a keyboard. And I look up to you. I _fancy_ you. What kind of fucked up person does that make me? If I look up to a person who’s happy to get high off prescription drugs and play with a bloody keyboard? I’m going somewhere. I’m going to _be_ somebody. I shouldn’t fucking fancy _you_.”

The words escaped you before you can stop them and your stomach did a backflip involuntarily. 

There was no response from 2-D.

You glared at him. “Say something, you wanker.”

2-D didn’t say anything, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes half-lidded. Honestly, he looked right out of it and you wondered if he might have overdone it with the pills this time. It wasn’t unusual for him to overdo it and knock himself out. Sometimes, you wondered if he liked dozing off and losing himself for a while. 

You called his name. Once. Twice. Three times. You could have heard a pin drop, as stupid as the expression is. And then, you realised that something was wrong and you pushed yourself to your feet. The empty bottle sat on the floor beside the sofa and you spared it a glance, remembering it hazily as being half-full earlier. Your breath caught in your throat and you shook 2-D by his shoulder.

He lolled in your grip, his eyes half-open and a blank expression on his face. Like a corpse. You gripped for his pulse and found his skin cool and clammy in your hand. Lost, you made a soft noise you thought you were incapable of making. Suddenly, you were the vulnerable child in the care home again and you knew that nobody was coming to help you. And you thought you might be crying but you didn’t want to check. Your breath came fast as you pulled 2-D off the sofa and onto the floor with a thump, pushing him onto his side as your heart raced in your chest. 

Noodle stirred in her corner, where she’d curled up on her futon a few hours ago, and you prayed she didn’t wake up. Her eyelids flickered open a little. 

“2-Chee?” She mumbled, sleepily, and turned over to go back to sleep.

You knew you needed to call somebody, Russel or an ambulance, but you were wasted and punching the numbers into the phone seemed impossible. As drunk as you were, you knew that you couldn’t try to drive to the hospital without killing both of you. Besides, you didn’t have a car. You could only kneel beside 2-D, not sure of what to do, and hope you weren’t sobbing. Noodle recalled afterwards that she could hear you repeating “please” and “oh fuck” over and over. She thought she was dreaming.

Time passed, you weren’t sure how much, as you just stared at 2-D’s slumped form on the floor and knew you should be doing something. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to do. The sound of 2-D sucking in air abruptly and making a quiet retching noise, his body shaking as it forced up what it could of the painkillers. He was violently sick on the floor, coughing and wheezing, and you rubbed the space between his shoulder blades. 2-D, barely conscious, clung to you once he was done and you held him.

“Thank, Satan.” You managed a shaky laugh, “You scared me, you twat.”

2-D let out a slurred noise that might have been an apology and pressed his head against your chest. His skin was still sweaty to touch but you breathed a little easier knowing most of it was probably out of his system and that he was mostly conscious. You had never been good at taking care of other people- you were only just getting used to looking after Noodle- but you did your best to comfort him as 2-D shivered in your arms.

Eventually, you reckoned enough was enough and heaved him off the ground. He looped one of his long, stickman arms around your shoulders and you half-dragged him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you. There was a bathtub, old and ugly, with a showerhead hanging over it and you decided it would be easier to sit him in the bathtub than hold him up in the shower. There was nothing sexy about peeling 2-D’s sick-covered clothes off him though it was the first time you had removed another man’s underwear.

“Sexy.” You commented, sarcastically, as you removed 2-D’s duck-patterned briefs. 

2-D smiled a little at that.

The whole time that you undressed him and ushered him into the bath, the older man was quiet and complacent. He was almost like a husk of a person, raising his arms when he was told, and looking straight ahead like a great sadness filled him. He pulled his legs towards him as he sat in the bath, resting his head on his knees, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. He was vulnerable. Ashamed, you thought how the you of a few months ago would have taken advantage of somebody looking so pathetic. 

You washed and rinsed his hair for him, cleaning the sick and sweat out of it. It’s intimate, you thought, but not in a sexy sort of way. Looking after somebody else is a strikingly new experience for you and you find it a bit sad. A bit bittersweet. And you remember how your mum would look after you when you drunk yourself sick. You helped 2-D out of the bath and lowered the lid of the toilet, sitting him down on it. 

“When I hit you with the car…” 2-D began, quietly, when you were towelling his hair dry, “I sat there and begged you to be okay. I didn’t want you to die.”

You recalled a vague, hazy memory of being pushed onto your side and feeling the pain in your sides seize up. Lying on the floor wondering what idiot had been stupid enough to run you down with his car. And then, a frantic voice nearby and far away all at once:

_"Don't die. Please! Please, don't die! I didn't want to hurt anybody. I didn't want to hurt you. Please, wake up! You can't be dying. You can't be, you can't be, you can't be!"_

“Bloody pansy.” You shook your head and he chuckled, “Who’d have thought the tables would turn, eh? You scared me, you twat.”

2-D glanced up at him. “I thought Murdoc Pot wasn’t scared of anything.”

“I just saved you from accidentally offing yourself.” You told him, “A thank you wouldn’t go amiss, Stu.”

2-D offered him a small smile. “Thank you, Muds.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t do it again, you twat.” You swatted his head lightly and he flinched hard.

He was able to walk without you supporting him this time as you took him back to his room and redressed him in his pyjamas, before pushing him into bed and making him promise to stay there. He did, closing his eyes almost immediately and pulling his duvet over his head to shut the world out. Hesitating at the door, you wondered why he decided to tell you about that day. The day you’d met. And then you flipped the light off and closing his bedroom door, turning round to find Noodle standing there.

You nearly had a bloody heart attack at the tender age of twenty.

Noodle was standing right in front of you, in her cat pyjamas, with her arms crossed firmly across her chest. Although half-asleep, she looks determined and you hoped she didn’t see you tucking 2-D into bed like some old mother hen. You wouldn’t want her to see you as being a sop. She thought you were cool.

“Is 2-Chee sick?” Noodle whispered, demandingly.

You nearly told her the truth. “Idiot ate some crap that was bad for him. He’s alright now.”

“He needs me.” She tried to muscle her way past you, “Murdoc-san, he needs us.”

“Satan, he’s fine.” You hissed at her and Noodle looked hurt; you rubbed your temples, wondering when this nightmare would end, and held out your hand to her, “The moron will be fine. He just needs some rest and time off from being stupid. You need to go back to bed or Russ will kill me.”

“He needs us.” Noodle insisted, taking your hand and dodging around you. 

She opened the door and slipped inside, pulling you with her. Putting her index finger to her lips, she climbed into the bed and squeezed between 2-D and the wall. He made a confused noise in his sleep but slung an arm around her, as if he really were her dad, and contently settled back into sleep. Standing awkwardly, you felt you had no choice but to clamber into the bed on his other side and 2-D rolled onto his back so that he could put an arm around both of you. He seemed happy not to be alone.

The bed wasn’t really meant for two people, let alone three, but somehow the three of you fit. Of course, Noodle steals most of the duvet for herself and you keep getting smothered by 2-D’s hair, but somehow you managed to fall asleep pressed up against 2-D’s side. As you fell asleep, you watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. He was alive. He was okay. He was safe.


	9. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence, use of a mild racial slur.
> 
> also it's in third person now :)

It’s a few months after the incident with the pills and Murdoc is lying upside down on the sofa with a cigarette hanging from his lip. He’s blowing rings of smoke up at a delighted Noodle, who seems impressed, while Russel looks on in disappointment. Although things don’t initially seem that different, a lot of things have changed; they signed to a medium-sized label, the four of them elected to move into a new, slightly bigger flat, and Murdoc had proved his local reputation as being “a bit rough”.

Being signed by the label was all thanks to a combination of Murdoc’s bolshy attitude and Russel’s common sense to know when to cut Murdoc off. They were invited to a meeting with the record label because Murdoc recognised somebody from the label at one of their local shows and had snatched the microphone to announce in a slurred yell that he was free to meet and discuss signing them on Thursday. Then, he convinced the crowd to join him in a roaring rendition of “sign them! sign them!”. 

Honestly, if it wasn’t for their music being so good, 2-D would’ve been convinced that Murdoc scared the label into signing them. It was thanks to Russel, who spoke well, dressed smartly, and interviewed nicely, that the meeting itself went well. 2-D couldn’t remember much of the meeting, due to the fact he was utterly stoned throughout. 

Murdoc had been pleading with him, (in private so that nobody would know that he gave a shit), to drop the painkillers on the basis that it “doesn’t really go with the rockstar image nowadays, does it?”, though 2-D thought it was more to do with the overdose. He wasn’t taking as many as usual, for Murdoc’s sake, but painkillers were still the only thing that soothed his migraines and mellowed his memories of the past. 

“And I dunno what kind of effect it could have on Noods,” 2-D had reasoned with himself, one night when he was sitting up writing music with Murdoc, “What if she tries to copy me? She could hurt herself or something.”

“Aren’t you the responsible father?” Murdoc had grinned, looking up from his bass.

2-D had thrown a sofa cushion at him and missed by a wide margin, making Murdoc laugh. But his laugh hadn’t been unkind. They had been getting more and more matey recently, rather than just being two people that lived together. Until… well. Murdoc was even less moody, lately, though he still had his moments. 

Speaking of which, it was also no longer the two of them in a cramped flat with Noodle sleeping on her futon. Since the band was beginning to take off, they’d elected to move into a bigger flat that could comfortably fit all four of them even it was falling apart and mould grew in one corner of the ceiling. 

It was a nice place, especially after they’d worked for about a week fixing it up a little- mostly Russel and 2-D, while Murdoc ordered them around, with Del making a few guest appearances to help with heavy lifting. Apparently, ghosts were incredibly strong, who knew? Thanks to Russel, it was a lot more furnished than their last flat; though Murdoc had thrown a strop when he wouldn’t let him keep the pyramid they’d been building out of empty beer cans. Noodle had been so excited to get her room that she had spent hours decorating and then immediately put up a sign on the door banning anybody else from entering. 2-D liked his new room a lot better and the cool blue colours on the walls and so did Murdoc judging by the amount of time he spent there.

They had stayed up a lot at night, armed with a bass guitar and a crappy beloved keyboard, and made music together. They didn’t always write it down and they didn’t always remember it the next morning but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important. 

“Geroff!” Murdoc fell with a thump to the floor and brought 2-D back to the present, “Noodle!”

“I tickle you!” Noodle threatened, wrestling him to the ground as she attempted to do just that.

Which just leaves the third and most troubling of the three recent developments: Murdoc had beaten somebody up. And all three of them (four? Del?) had seen what he was capable of. And, honestly, it had been lurking in the back of 2-D’s mind ever since, making him on edge.

It had been a few weeks ago, after one of their shows. Since they’d been getting more popular, they’d been bussing out to other cities to perform shows there and this had been a show about two hours away from home. When they’d packed up, 2-D was wiping sweat from his forehead and wishing he was young like Noodle so that he could be carried on somebody’s shoulders. Bless her, she was falling asleep pressed against Russel’s back as the four of them left the club behind them. Some nights, they stayed after shows for a drink or two but the long drive head loomed ahead and Noodle was already exhausted; usually, she napped in their booth until it was time to go home but tonight, Russel reasoned she could sleep on the way home.

Anyway, it was a warm early spring night but rain still drizzled from the sky. 2-D zipped up his coat.

“British weather for you, eh?” Murdoc nodded up at the sky and Russel chuckled.

“Man, you should see what the weather gets like in the US…” His voice drifted away as 2-D stopped listening, his attention focused on something else.

A couple of leering figures outside the club, looked like they were likely tossed out or never let in in the first place, instinctively caused 2-D to get goosebumps despite the warm evening. Something about their body language and sneering voices reminded him of his dad and he tensed up automatically, fight or flight response kicking in instantly. The memories he usually managed to keep subdued rise quickly to the surface and he remembered in flashes how he used to shut himself in his room, pressing himself against the door to keep it closed. 2-D forgot how to breathe, sucking in air too fast. That’s before the strangers started yelling at them.

“Oi, paki!” One of them shouted, obviously wasted, “Pretty shite band, mate!”

Murdoc stopped talking to Russel and 2-D saw him tense up too. 

“The fuck did you say, you wanker?” Murdoc turned to face them, stalking over.

“I said your band’s pretty shite, you twat. How about you lot fuck off back to your own countr-” 

Before the man could finish his sentence, Murdoc threw a punch that connected with the man’s jaw and sent him reeling. The man tried to punch him in the stomach but Murdoc grabbed his fist before it could touch him and brought his knee up so that the man doubled over. One of the man’s mates tried to pull Murdoc off him but Murdoc threw him off easily and kicked him in the balls for good measure. When the first man gets up, he manages to take Murdoc by surprise and manages to crack Murdoc’s already broken nose so that blood starts to flow from it. Unfazed, Murdoc wiped the blood on his sleeve and grabbed the man by the shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

Another one of the man’s mates tried to grab Murdoc from behind but Noodle, now awake and alert, leapt on him so that they both go crashing to the ground. She imitated Murdoc, planting her fists hard and fast against the man’s face until he’s bleeding and one of his eyes is blacked. Russel had to lift her off him, throwing her over one of his shoulders to carry her, before sweeping up Murdoc too and tucking him under his arm. Murdoc flailed against his grip, still fuming angrily. Russel held onto him easily.

2-D realised he had just been standing there, watching in horror, and traipsed after Russel. The men, one still struggling to their feet, yelled more slurs after them as they walked away. In one last act of defiance, Noodle yelled from where she was trapped on Russel’s shoulder:

“Fuck off!” And she waved both of her middle fingers at them. 

All the way home, Russel talked anti-violence but wasn’t what was on 2-D’s mind- he couldn’t get rid of Murdoc’s crazed expression as he beat the shit out of that racist. He didn’t know that Murdoc was capable of doing that. Murdoc, who sometimes let his moody act down and smiled at him onstage, didn’t seem like the kind of person who could do that. Even though he’d heard the rumours about Murdoc Pot and his reputation, he’d never really believed it until he’d seen it firsthand. Now, it was staring him in the face. Since then, he’d been on edge around Murdoc, worried he might piss him off and Murdoc might turn on him. 

2-D had been avoiding him more and more- only willing to hang out with him if someone else was in the room.

Murdoc is still pinned to the ground, being tickled within an inch of his life. To her delight, Noodle has discovered that he is extremely ticklish on his stomach and has immobilised him. He can’t escape for laughing. He doesn’t look like the same man he was the other night. 2-D pulls his knees close to his chest. 

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder, “Something wrong, D?” 

He looks up to find Russel looking at him with concern.

Russel frowns, “Is something going on? You’ve been really… off recently. Murdoc says you keep avoiding him.”

“I dunno,” 2-D replies, playing dumb.

It’s something he’s always kept a secret- the way his dad treated him, that is. When he was younger, he knew that saying something would only make things worse than doing nothing at all. Additionally, his father had been feared locally and even if 2-D had said something, he didn’t think anybody would be able to do anything about it. He’d never had anybody to really confide in about it, not without putting himself at risk, and he hadn’t really felt like bringing it up since leaving. Honestly, 2-D’s not sure why. Maybe he was trying to put it behind him. Maybe he secretly feared that nobody would take him seriously and that they would just laugh at him. Or even worse, they would take him seriously and see 2-D as just as much of a monster.

After all, everybody takes after their parents. What if 2-D turned out to be just like his father? His brother, Hannibal, had certainly been heading down that path from what he could tell. 

And if he can’t tell Russel about his dad, how can he explain why seeing Murdoc beat another man senseless had hit way, way too close to home?

“You want to go somewhere and talk?” Russel’s hand hadn’t left his shoulder. 

If anybody would know what he should do, it would be Russel. What he lacked in memory, he certainly made up in insight. It would be much easier to talk to him about everything than it would be to talk to Murdoc, they’d barely spoken since then due to 2-D avoiding him and dropping his gaze whenever he came close. And there was certainly no way 2-D could mention a word of it to Noodle- she was just a kid. Like he had been. Once. What feels like an incredibly long time ago.

“Whatever it is, it’s better to get it off your chest; tell it to someone, anyone, even if it scares the hell out of you,” Russel finally lifted his hand off his shoulder and smiled warmly at him. 

2-D looks up at him, “Is that why you pray sometimes?”

“One of the reasons.” Russel says and 2-D wished he could believe in a God, “Go get your coat, we’ll go for a walk somewhere. Murdoc’ll be alright babysitting Noodle for a little while.”

“Don’t leave me here, like this…” Murdoc groaned, from where he was still lying on the ground; now, Noodle was sitting on top of him to stop him getting up and was reading a magazine. 

Sighing, 2-D got his feet and went to grab his coat from where it had been tossed over the back of a chair. He still didn’t quite know what he was going to say but he thought Russel was right. He couldn’t keep all of his, his history, locked up inside of him forever. That couldn’t be good for a person. And besides, it wasn’t like it mattered now- he wasn’t going to see his father ever again. 

He slipped his coat on and headed for the door, Russel close behind him.

“We can get drinks after if you’re up to it,” Russel suggested, in an effort to cheer him up, “Or go for some food? I have no idea what I’m making for dinner yet.”

“Thanks, Russ,” 2-D unlocked the door, pulling it open, and nearly walking straight into the person waiting on the doorstep, “Oh, bollocks, I’m sor-”

He froze.


	10. Strangers

Murdoc looked up when he heard the door slam shut abruptly. 

Even Noodle seemed to realise that something was wrong, scrambling to her feet and grabbing the nearest available object- a rogue ashtray- to wield like a weapon. When Russel told her not to worry and go do some homework, she dropped it again and reluctantly retreated to her bedroom. A wary looked remained in her eyes and she elected to leave her door open a crack, in case she needed to leap to their rescue. 

2-D dropped onto the sofa, his head falling into his shaking hands with a sigh.

“You need to tell him to leave,” He moaned, quietly, sounding as pained as if he’d been stabbed, “He can’t be here. I thought… Russ, you need to tell him to bugger off.”

He had paled dramatically, as if he had seen a ghost standing on the other side of the door. For a moment, Murdoc wondered if he was going to throw up. Who could be make 2-D feel so shit so quickly? 

Part of Murdoc wanted to beat the shit out of whoever stood on the other side of that door and part of him remembered how 2-D had looked on that night, during the fight. For just a second, while he had been punching the shit out of that scumbag, he’d looked up at his bandmates. He’d expected them to… he wasn’t sure. Be proud of him. Be cheering him on. That was what friends did, right? What he hadn’t expected was to see the look of pure and utter horror on 2-D’s face. Like he was looking at a monster. Was Murdoc a monster?

He’d tried to act like it had never happened but something had changed between them that night. 

“You know that guy, D?” Russel said, “You think he’s going to cause us trouble?” 

2-D rubbed his temples, “Tell him to eff off, Russ. Please. I can’t see him.”

“Look, you just tell me if you need me to go out there and sort him out, alright?” Murdoc offered.

It was the wrong thing to say. 2-D visibly flinched away from him and pulled his feet up onto the sofa, curled into a fetal position as if he was scared they were going to start kicking him. Or the man standing on the other side of the door was. Speak of the devil. There was a knock on the door, a quick and harsh rapping of knuckles against wood, and 2-D started rocking himself back and forth.

Russel and Murdoc exchanged a look. 

It was clear that whoever this stranger was, they needed to get him to clear off as soon as possible. Murdoc had never seen 2-D so upset and so… victim-like. It was as if he had suddenly reverted back to being a child that was scared of monsters under the bed. Except his monsters seemed so very real. They were outside the door. And they were still knocking to come in. 

Pushing himself off the floor, Murdoc stalked over to the door and swung it open.

Standing on the other side of the door was a man he had never seen before in his life. He had no idea who it could be but he also realised quickly in that moment that he knew little to nothing about 2-D’s life- he had never wanted to talk about it. The man looked a little older than 2-D, probably closer to his forties than his thirties, and his skin was grimey. His face and hands were very dirty, covered in a layer of filth. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth and it twitched when he grinned at you. 

“Alright, mate?” He spoke in a similar way to 2-D but less nervous somehow. More sure of himself.

“Listen, mate, I don’t know who you think you are. I don’t give a shit either,” Murdoc spat at him, quite literally so that flecks of spit ended up on the man’s face, “All I know is that my mate 2-D told you to get lost. Which means I don’t like you. So you can fuck off back to where you came from, _alright_?” 

He shut the door again but the man stuck his foot in the door so that it didn’t quite close.

“Look,” The man sounded less sure of himself now, a little more desperate, “I was told Stuart was here. You know Stuart, yeah? You’re on the poster with him. Tell him I just want to talk to him. Dad’s cut me off. I’ve run out of places to go. Dad didn’t send me here or nothing.”

Murdoc cracked the door open, just enough so that he could size up at the man. 

Was this man 2-D’s older brother? He’d never mentioned one and he didn’t seem to like him much, the way that he was cowering on the sofa like he’d just seen a ghost, (no offence, Del). Initially, Murdoc couldn’t see any similarity between the two of them; it was like comparing Russel to Noodle. But the longer he looked, the more he could recognise 2-D’s cheekbones, eyes, and posture in the stranger. The man’s pointed nose made his face appear much sharper but some of the same features were there, hidden under the dirt. 

Something touched Murdoc’s shoulder and he turned to see 2-D had shuffled over to him.

“What do you reckon, Muds?” He asked, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

There was fear in his eyes still, primal fear, but he seemed to be considering his brother’s words, mulling them over. His hand was warm against Murdoc’s shoulder, a little clammy, but it felt good there, like he trusted him. Like the last few weeks hadn’t felt so alien. Looking past him, Murdoc saw Russel standing with his arms folded and behind him, Noodle had snuck out of her room and stood on her tiptoes, trying to see what was happening. She was now holding a bedside lamp as a weapon instead.

“I reckon if he’s not going to be able to try anything with all of us here,” He turned back to 2-D, “But it’s whatever you want to do, mate.” 

2-D massaged his temples again, as if he was getting a migraine, “Alright, he can talk.”

Murdoc opened the door and offered the man a sharp look, warning him not to try anything, before stepping aside so that he could slip into their home. He checked the hallway outside for any other lurkers before locking the door and following the others back to the living room. The cheerful atmosphere had vanished. It suddenly felt more like months than minutes since Noodle relentlessly tickling him was his biggest threat. 

2-D’s brother looked uncomfortable sat on their sofa but not as uncomfortable as 2-D looked seeing him there, hovering unsurely by the sofa before shakily drawing and lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag from it, frowning like he was trying to work out what to say, before passing it onto Murdoc. Sharing a cigarette was something they’d done before when they were alone but felt too intimate somehow in front of this stranger sitting in front of them. 2-D’s brother quirked an eyebrow at them.

“What do you want, Hannibal?” 2-D’s nervous voice cut through the tension.

“This is your band, eh?” Hannibal seemed to take it as an invitation to start talking, “Big man Stuart’s got his own band now. Dad would fucking piss himself laughing if he knew. You remember how he used to make you sing and dance that stupid song to win money at the pub?” 

He laughed, cruelly.

Visibly pained, 2-D glanced at Murdoc and then at the other two, as if he was ashamed or scared that they were hearing this. For Murdoc, a lot of things had already started clicking into place about how 2-D acted. How he hadn’t told him he could sing and how nervous he’d been at their first gig, looking like he might pass out on the stage or something. His dad sounded like a right shit.

Childhood fucks you up, he recalls 2-D saying the night of the overdose and he wondered if he should have picked up all of these clues sooner. Murdoc always thought something was off about 2-D’s past but he’d never pushed him about it. Should he have? It wasn’t right if he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“I said, what do you want?” 2-D said, through gritted teeth. 

“Answer question!” Noodle commanded, who was standing next to Hannibal with her bedside lamp still firmly gripped in both hands, as if she was prepared to smash his skull in if he made a wrong move. 

Hannibal laughed, again, “No need to get so bloody worked up. I told you already. I’m out of places to go. I wasn’t going to hang around and let Dad use me as a punching bag instead, was I? So I left and he cut me off. I don’t anywhere to go, Stu.” 

Pushing one hand through his hair, 2-D let out a loud sigh and wandered off down the hallway. Knowing him, he likely just needed a wander around to clear his head and worked out what he wanted to do. Murdoc watched him walk away with his fingers still knotted in his hair and, surprisingly, longed to help him. He never thought he would be the kind of the person that wanted to help somebody else. He had always been out for himself, all the time, it had been the only way he knew to survive. And now… this. Everything changed so fast.

Russel, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the confrontation, sat down on the sofa with his notebook out and started interrogating Hannibal. Lowering her bedside lamp, Noodle still stood ready to pounce if the man even dared breathe at the wrong time.

Taking another breath of his cigarette, Murdoc went to find 2-D.

Their flat was bigger than the last one but it was hardly a mansion. It wasn’t difficult to find 2-D slumped against the tile wall of the bathroom with his head pressed against his knees like it had been before, as if he was trying to block out the world around him. Wordlessly, Murdoc pushed his back against the wall and slid down to sit beside him. 2-D lifted his head a little to look at him and Murdoc handed him the cigarette back.

“Thanks,” 2-D muttered, sucking on it and blowing smoke across the tops of his knees, “Yeah… That’s Hannibal.”

Murdoc chuckled, “Nasty piece of work. I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to see him again,” He shrugged, staring blankly ahead, “I thought… I thought I had left it all behind, yeah? That was probably stupid of me. Those bloody posters are up everywhere. Muds… If he can find us, what if Dad can find us too?”

He suddenly sounded more scared than dazed, fear creeping into his voice. Whatever his dad had done to him, 2-D was absolutely terrified of him. Suddenly, Murdoc felt like a twat for all the times that he’d complained about his parents. And 2-D had listened to him, assuring him that things were better now, and the whole time probably thinking about how his dad had treated him. Satan, Murdoc was a fucking asshole. Before Murdoc could open his mouth to respond, tears beaded in 2-D’s eyes.

“I thought running away would fix everything!” His voice broke.

Then, 2-D started crying and it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t how people cried in films or TV, this was genuine, open sobbing. There was pure desperation and hopelessness in 2-D’s voice, like everything he had been keeping inside of him for so long was suddenly exploding out of him. Like he was breaking. It was ugly sobs, tears and snot streaming down his face, and Murdoc couldn’t do anything except take his cigarette away, stub it out, and wrap an arm around his shoulders. There was real hurt in how 2-D cried like all his feelings were bleeding out onto the bathroom floor. Murdoc’s heart hurt. 

“It’s alright, I won’t let him find you here,” Murdoc promised, “I’ll… I’ll keep you safe, 2-D. I’ll make sure you’re okay, yeah? I won’t let your dad anywhere near you. You’re safe. Fuck.”

2-D pressed his face into Murdoc’s shoulder and stayed there, crying hard and soaking his shirt through. Murdoc did not let go of him the whole time, holding onto him just as desperately as 2-D was clinging onto him. For a brief moment, sat on the bathroom floor, they only had each other. It wasn’t enough but it was something. 

“Oi, don’t get snot all over my top,” Murdoc squeezed 2-D tightly with the arm that was wrapped around him, “Wanker. You’re going to be okay. You hear?”

He nodded, too tired to keep howling with sadness anymore, and he didn’t move from where he was pressed against Murdoc’s side. Looking at him, Murdoc realised for the first time just how exhausted and sad 2-D looked, like just slumping there was taking so much effort. He was a warm and welcome presence against Murdoc’s side, soft to the touch. The intimacy was comforting for both of them. A tear rolled down 2-D’s nose and dripped off the end, landing on Murdoc’s shirt.

For the longest time, it felt like Murdoc should say something. Instead, he just played with 2-D’s soft, blue hair, combing his fingers through the pretty locks and catching his tears on his shirt. 

“We should go back in there,” 2-D said, all too soon.

It took him a minute to untangle from Murdoc’s grip and get to his feet, walking towards the door. Murdoc got up too, rolling his eyes when he realised that 2-D _had_ managed to smear snot all over him during his crying fit. He didn’t mind as much as he thought.

“Sorry,” 2-D apologised, wiping his nose on his own sleeve this time.

“It’s alright,” Murdoc shrugged, “What mates are for, right?”

After a pause, 2-D replied, “Right.”

There was another silence, 2-D hovering in the doorway and Murdoc waiting for him to say something else, waiting with baited breath. The moment ended when 2-D turned and stepped out of the doorway into the hallway. Suddenly, Murdoc lurched towards him suddenly, blurting out what he was thinking:

“I think I might fancy you!”

But 2-D was already out of earshot by the time he managed to get the sentence out. Stupid. 

Sometimes, Murdoc really hated himself.

When he re-entered the lounge, things had changed very little since he’d left; he supposed it hadn’t really been that long at all, it had just felt that way. Noodle was still standing guard by the sofa but Russel had stopped asking questions and closed his notebook. Instead, 2-D was looking down at his brother from where he stood. He towered over his older brother, who was much more stout when he was standing up let alone sitting down. Although the fear wasn’t gone, there was something else conveyed in 2-D’s posture.

Control, maybe. Or braveness.

His brother almost seemed to shrink, his cockiness vanishing as he realised that 2-D might not pushover so easy this time. It was as if the brothers were seeing other in a different light for the first time in their lives. And Murdoc couldn’t help but think how much 2-D had changed since they first met. He was bolder, less of a compliant shadow of a man. He was still slow and nervous but he laughed too and he stood strong. He glanced back at Murdoc, as if he could hear his thoughts, and Murdoc nodded to him.

“Okay, Hannibal,” 2-D said, after a tense silence, “Let’s talk.”


	11. Addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: one homophobic slur, mentions of substance dependency, HEAVY MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE at the end.

Hannibal hadn’t been lying. As soon as 2-D had run for the hills, their dad had turned his attention on him and he was smart enough to bolt too. Next thing he’d known, his credit card had been cancelled and he was left with nowhere to go. He’d come looking for them in the hopes that they’d be able to help him out. He’d seen the posters around and worked out quickly that they must be making cash. 

Trust Hannibal to come looking for him just to demand money from him. 2-D wasn’t surprised, really. 

“How you find us?” Noodle had inquired from where she was perched on the coffee table.

“I’ve got a mate that can find anyone if you pay him enough,” Hannibal had replied, sending shivers down 2-D’s spine, “Ain’t that right, Stuart?”

It was true that Hannibal had all kinds of dodgy mates, most of them mixed up in either drugs or gangs. And he really did have a friend that was capable of tracking people down. 2-D had met him; a man with greasy hair and dirty fingernails. Sometimes, when Hannibal had needed an extra pair of hands, he had forced 2-D to go with him and his mates on raids. As soon as he could see over a windshield, Hannibal had taught him the basics so that he could play getaway driver. He’d met Hannibal’s friends, yes, and they were all nasty pieces of work. All of them bullied him. Well, nearly all of them. One of them had been alright. 

2-D had stared at the wall and wished his brother would just leave. 

In the end, Hannibal didn’t end up staying with them. Thank whatever divine force intervened there. 2-D just lent him some money to keep him going until he could take up a job or move in with some friends and Hannibal retreated to a bed and breakfast on the other side of town. He didn’t mention if he was ever coming back. The others seemed to sense he didn’t want to talk about it- except Murdoc. Subtlety wasn’t really his strong suit.

“What a dick, eh?” He’d said, flopping on the end of 2-D’s bed and lighting a cigarette. 

2-D nodded, still a little dazed from the whole experience. 

“You look kinda like him,” Murdoc added, “Do you both take after your dad or something?” 

The taste of acid in his mouth warned 2-D what was coming in time for him to up and bolt into the bathroom across the hall. Once he was done retching, he sat back and pushed the door closed. Maybe Murdoc would take the hint that he wanted five minutes to himself. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall. The whole day seemed hazey and confusing, not quite real. He wondered if he’d taken too many painkillers this morning and imagined the whole thing, head spinning. 

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real. He’d seen Noodle’s puzzled expression at this stranger that made the man she looked up to cry, he’d seen Russel’s immediate concern, and he’d seen how Murdoc had blocked the door in order to protect him. They were more of a family to him than his own had ever been and he thought fondly of Noodle’s artwork still pinned to the fridge. At the same time, Hannibal’s visit reminded him how desperately unlike the rest of them he was. He… He was different, separate.

It was like he was a ghost intruding on the world of the living. The painkillers didn’t help. 

“Get up there, mate!” It was a few weeks later and Murdoc was pushing him onto the stage.

Dizzied and confused in the lights, 2-D half-stumbled his way to the microphone and grabbed the stand in order to steady himself a little. When he sung, it was like leaving everything behind and losing himself. It was like living in another world, made of words. He was pulled out of it when Del emerged behind him, rapping, to the delight of the audience. 2-D just looked around, a little lost, until it was his turn to sing again.

Some people just seemed to either accept that ghosts were very real and capable of rapping but most just assumed that Del was some kind of special effect that they rigged up. A hologram, people speculated on the online music forums, and a cool one at that. People liked that Gorillaz were different.

They were developing a sort of cult following, so that people in the crowd would sometimes know their names and meet them after the shows and bring them presents. Somebody even brought Noodle an old Gameboy to mess around with on the way to shows- she loved it. Murdoc always seemed to be getting off with some of the fans in the toilets but Russel had noted that it was only when he was drunk. And he wasn’t drunk as often as he used to be. Russel theorised, again, that he had a crush on 2-D.

“You think about it,” He said, after the show, when 2-D was beginning to come down, “Why else would he say no to all these cute fans that are chasing after him? He’s a young man, we know he’s not too ashamed to have sex with some girl or guy he hardly knows in the toilets, and yet he’s barely even flirting with them.”

He was right. Tonight, Murdoc seemed more like he was being complacent with the guy that he was talking to rather than trying to whisk him away.

“He said he fancies me,” 2-D mumbled, stirring a finger idly in his drink, “I overheard him.”

He thought back to a few weeks ago when he’d been walking away and Murdoc had called after him, almost like he couldn’t stop the words bursting out of him. 2-D was a little surprised but since Russel had pointed it out, he had gotten a sense that Murdoc considered them more than best mates. He did too. 

He just wasn’t sure what to do with it. There was something between them, yeah, but should he pursue it?

Russel raised an eyebrow, “What’s the problem then? I thought you liked him.”

2-D stuck his index finger in his mouth and licked it clean, “It’s not that I don’t fancy him. He’s fit in an ugly kind of way and I think I really do like him. But it’s not easy.”

“Relationships aren’t always easy,” Russel reasoned, “You have to work at them. But if you make each other happy, perhaps you should just go for it.”

It would be easy to get up and slope over to where Murdoc had moved to chat to the bartender. 2-D could slide his arms around his neck or his waist and pull him in close. Their bodies would press against each other and maybe Murdoc would lean back into him, turning his head so that their lips could melt into each other. They could go somewhere. A hotel room. Anywhere. A night of sprawling on top of Murdoc and making him moan. And then in the morning, going out for breakfast together. Murdoc sliding an arm around him easily in the booth of a diner. Clinking their mimosas together. Driving somewhere. Doing somewhere cheesy like sharing clothes or getting matching tattoos. A future? Maybe. 

At the same time, 2-D could see everybody in this room judging them for the almost full decade that separated them. When Murdoc was a baby, 2-D had already been in secondary school. It wasn’t just that. Trauma split them apart. Murdoc’s years spent in care. 2-D’s childhood spent at the hands of his father. Murdoc getting spat on and beaten up at school, turning to alcohol. 2-D having to take painkillers just to numb it all. Adoption. A smashed and battered keyboard. These were things that could drive them apart just as easily as pulling them together. What if they broke each other even more? What if 2-D turned into the monster he lived in fear of?

“2-D. 2-D! Stuart!” Russel said, making him cringe and snap back into reality, “Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” 2-D mumbled.

Russel gestured to his eyes, “You were drifting. I could see it. Your body was here but your head went somewhere else completely. I thought you were going to black out or something, man.”

He scrunched up his face at the thought, “Sorry… Maybe we should just go home.”

“I’ll tell Murdoc I’m taking you home.”

2-D felt drowsy for some reason; he slept most the way home, resting against Russel’s soft stomach and trying not to inhale the thick air of the taxi. It smelled too much like cheap liquor and burnt out cigars. And he found himself caught up in a confusing dream, where he was at home with his dad again but for some reason he wasn’t 2-D anymore; he was Murdoc. When he woke up, he was soaked in sweat and shivering. 

When they got home, Russel had to lift him out of the car and carry him inside. He was too tired to stumble up the stairs on his own and his head was beginning to thump against his skull. Noodle, who 2-D hadn’t even realised was with them, ran alongside them with a worried expression on her little face.

“I’ve probably just got a cold, love,” He assured her, reaching out to touch her forehead and realising that his hand was uncomfortably clammy, “Nothing to worry about.” 

She peered down at him when Russel tucked him into his bed, biting down on her nails nervously. Then, he must’ve ushered her out because she disappeared from view and 2-D dozed off again, gratefully. 

For a long time, 2-D was just laying there and dipping in and out of sleep without even being aware of what was going on around him. His dreams were confusing and headachey. He didn’t remember what happened in most of them but some felt scarier and some felt sadder and some felt real, like he was remembering things that had really happened. The whole time, Russel didn’t disappear from his side; he was always there, in the corner of his vision, like a reassuring statue. A constant. A guardian. 

When he woke up, Russel was still sitting against the wall beside him but he had nodded off, his head hanging against his chest as he snored. His mouth tasted like sand, his head hurt, and he just wanted to drop off to sleep again. Instead, he swung his legs around and got out of bed. He stumbled to the kitchen, nearly knocking a stack of dirty dishes onto the floor, and filled a glass with water, chugging it as if he was a dying man. Water dribbled out of his mouth onto his shirt. 

“You alright, mate?” Murdoc was standing in the doorway, bleary eyed.

2-D blinked at him, “Is it well late at night?”

“It’s five in the bloody morning.” He supplied, rubbing his eyes, “I got back about half an hour ago. You were making a right racket in here, stumbling around. Are you smashed?”

Shaking his head, 2-D remembered how he’d barely touched his drink last night as he’d watched Murdoc at the bar. This was something else… Sometimes when he was a teenager, he’d get headaches and stay awake at night sweating. That was usually when he’d had a bad trip on his painkillers. 

“You look like shit,” Murdoc added, looking him up and down, “Did you really black out on the way home?”

Numbly, he nodded.

“Jesus, Stu,” Murdoc muttered, his eyebrows furrowing, “Let’s sit down somewhere.”

They ended up wandering down the street to a kebab shop when 2-D remembered that he didn’t eat anything the night before. There’s a line, mostly consisting of other drunks making their way home, and 2-D wished that he had brought his coat with him. Before he could even say it out loud, Murdoc peels off his ragged, old jacket and wraps it around his shoulders. It’s too small for him but it helps.

Murdoc smells strongly of whiskey and when he talks, his words sound slower and like they’re coming through a telephone wire. But he was friendly, not angry like drunk people always seem to be to 2-D, and he kept steadying himself by holding onto 2-D’s waist. They order their food and wait, leaning against each other. Some girl with coked out eyes called them “faggots” and Murdoc spat in her food but let her walk away. He looked as exhausted as 2-D felt and he hadn’t even had a nap.

With their food, they couldn’t find a bench, so they settle for sitting on the pavement of a cul-de-sac. The faint, yellowing light comes from a streetlamp down the street. A lazy corner tucked away from the city. 

Murdoc leaned into him, warm against his shoulder, “Enough shite. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

 

“You mean, like, with us?” 2-D asked.

Murdoc laughed, shakily, “That’d be nice. But I mean, what’s going on in your head. First, you completely blank me because I teach some twats a lesson. Then, your bloody brother you never talk about showed up out of nowhere and you flip your lid. And this druggie stuff… Mate, I don’t even know where to begin with you. You’re a bit of a headcase, aren’t you?” 

2-D flipped him the bird, lazily, “Like you aren’t.”

Murdoc elbowed him, “Oi.”

“Okay…” 2-D sighed, “I think… I mean… I guess it all started when I was little. Really little. A baby. When I was a baby, my mum left me on Dad’s doorstep and never came back for me. He weren’t too happy about that. He already had Hannibal messing him about and he didn’t want any babies to start with.” He poked at his veggie kebab so that he didn’t have to look at Murdoc, “Dad would get really angry. The shouting was the worst. And he would always smash things, which was proper scary. Hannibal used to protect me when I was too little to talk but once I was old enough, he figured I should defend myself. He would always make fun of me.”

“I think he was just copying Dad and the lads at school. He was never as bad as Dad but he would help him. Anyway, sometimes when Dad got proper pissed off, he’d knock me about. He called it ‘knocking sense into me’. Everything made him angry. I had to sneak downstairs and get food when he was asleep and hide it in my room so he wouldn’t find it. Sometimes, he would just take his cigarette and use me to put it out. It was scary all the time. When you were punching people, I guess it just scared me because you reminded me of him. I didn’t think you were capable of doing stuff like that.”

2-D shook his head, “Hannibal coming back just brought it all back again. I thought I’d left it all behind but all the time, it’s right there. Dad’s always round every corner. If I close my eyes, I can hear his footsteps. The painkillers are the only thing that can drown it out and-”  
Suddenly, he found himself wrapped in a tight hug.

Murdoc’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a twat.”


End file.
